Courting with Danger
by Raven4129
Summary: Flack meets a woman battered by her exboyfriend and finds himself drawn to her strength and subtle oddity while trying to solve a murder she's been connected to.  FlackOC, please R&R, thanks!
1. Chance Meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Angie and the mystery girl, so please don't sue me. You won't get much...

On the mornings that their paths crossed, which was an often occurrence, Detectives Don Flack and Mac Taylor grabbed a cup of coffee at Stinger's around the corner from Flack's apartment, and it was usually the same thing as every morning. One tall black with two sugars a piece as they discussed the case at hand, the latest one being pretty open and shut. A man had happened upon his wife in bed with her personal trainer before shooting them both in the head with a hunting rifle. Danny was still trying to determine where the gun had even come from; there was no record of purchase or even its existence but with a believable confession, Flack had told him not to worry about it. All of them were conveniently forgetting that Mr. Riche was not a hunter, nor anyone else in his family for that matter.

There was a pause in their conversation as Flack leaned between a gap of people to get their coffee and winking at the cashier in the process. "Angie my angel, how you doin'?" he asked over the dull roar of the crowd like he did most every morning.

"Always better when you're in my coffee shop, Detective," she grinned without looking up from the register, too busy banging out his order so he and Mac could get on their way.

Angie Morrison was a tough bird having worked as a defense attorney for the better part of thirty years before deciding to try her hand at a little business. Stinger's Café was her baby nowadays, and she'd told Flack once that she was glad those "assholes" hadn't made her partner otherwise she wouldn't be having the time of her life serving the finest looking detectives in New York. It was a reference to all the boys at the crime lab that dropped by for her coffee with a recommendation from Flack and she enjoyed her friendly flirtations with each of them, harmless though they were. Angie was almost sixty and disinterested in a boy toy; she just liked grilling them once and awhile, and she often commented why she hadn't done this years ago. It was a hell of a lot better than defending those "grungy bastards" from murder.

Today, though, she didn't have time for friendly conversation, shooing Flack and his appendage away from her counter with a frenzied grunt, telling them both to come back later when the morning rush was gone and they agreed, knowing full well the day would probably be too busy. Murders to solve, criminals to put away, and all that boring mess.

Outside it was misting, as it usually did that time of year so close to the drastic change to what felt like below freezing temperatures, and Flack cinched up his coat, throwing a glance down the street to his left as a cabbie laid on his horn a little longer than necessary.

"Jaywalkers," Mac muttered, a tinge of frustration in his voice and Flack laughed, looking back at him. "You'd think they'd learn living in New York to not cross the street without a crosswalk. That's why we get so many hit and runs."

"Half the time I don't think drivers realize they've hit something," Flack half-joked as he once again looked to where the stopped taxi was, now curious as to why it hadn't moved along to its next fare and something inside of him groaned. Work was starting early this morning, and here he'd hoped to do a little desk work first, not have to see a dead body at the butt-crack of dawn. An argument had broken out between the hack and the woman he had apparently just avoided, the woman waving her arms animatedly while he was screaming obscenities at her and pointing rather fervently at the hood of his cab.

With a sigh, Flack started for the two, irritated that a crowd had already started to form behind the woman in curiosity, probably wondering who would throw the first punch or, morbidly, who would kill the other. Public disputes always brought spectators and Flack always found his face somewhat briefly on the news as someone snapped a picture on their cell phone of the event. Photos always did make him look fat.

"Alright, what's goin' on here?" Mac demanded, flashing a badge, as did Flack, and the latter stepped between the argument, holding out a hand toward the cabbie to prevent him from trying anything too stupid.

"Oh perfect timing," the woman said, relief in her voice and she took a step toward Flack feeling a little more bold with authorities around. "This wacko just started screaming at me because I stepped in front of him." -she shot a finger in his direction which only incited his anger and he lunged at her, meeting Flack full force.

"Woah! Hey wait a minute!" he cried, bracing himself for the impact and preventing the cabbie from tackling him to the ground. "What is the big deal? Get angry and move on, don't go assaulting someone."

"Look, either the two of you go about your business or someone here has to press charges and all we have to go on is your statements," Mac explained, looking with a cocked eyebrow from the woman to the driver, his expression grave and each one glanced away. "So?"

The hack shoved away from a still off-balance Flack and brusquely straightened his jacket, pursing his lips as though he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Flack straightened his own jacket and turned to face Mac but instead meeting the woman head on, a somewhat shy smile on her face as she bit at her lower lip.

"You guys are lifesavers," she cooed quietly, looking from Flack to Mac then back to the blue-eyed detective, her gaze lingering on him but oblivious to his uncomfortable shift of his weight from one foot to the other. "I was afraid he'd jump me any minute."

"Just...watch where you're going next time," Mac offered, glancing at Flack over the woman's shoulder and smiling, catching the glint in his eye. All week long they dealt with liars and con artists and anyone quick to dismiss their help but it was rare they encountered a truly gracious victim, so to speak, and Flack was flustered, unused to the attention she was giving him.

"Hey listen," she started as the two began to walk away, her hand falling lightly on Flack's arm and making him suddenly take notice of her. Bright green eyes, bouncy strawberry blond hair that was slowly deflating with the rain. "In case he comes around again, can I have a card? I take the same route every morning to work, as I'm sure he does and I just don't want any trouble from him."

Discreetly, Mac nudged his friend's side and nodded toward her, the action seeming as though it were waking Flack up for the morning and he fumbled around for his wallet, wondering who on God's green earth thought up the idea to put a wallet in your back pocket. It was an awkward location to begin with, but when you were flustered and wondering what you had to be flustered about, it became downright cruel.

Finally managing to flip her a card, he told her he would probably be pushing papers but if he wasn't there, just leave a message; it would forward to his cell phone, and as soon as he explained it he wondered why. It wasn't like the woman needed a play by play of how the message machine worked, and as he walked away he shoved his shaking hands into the pockets of his warm overcoat with the realization that he was coursing with nervous energy. It had been a long time since he'd felt that way about anything and a tiny little void inside of him seemed to fill slightly at the knowledge. Flack almost hoped that she would call him, and as the two of them stopped at a crosswalk with a few other morning commuters, Mac grinned at the hint of a smile on Flack's lips.

"You should've gotten her number. Told her something like you needed to check up on her so you'd feel better about not filing a police report." -Flack looked at him curiously. "But then again, I've had a little more practice at this job than you."

With that they shared a laugh and started for work, each praying their laughter was a good omen for the day, neither of them wanting to fish the construction worker out of the bay four hours later, no one having seen anything and making everyone's job that much harder to do. It was raining a little more heavily as Danny Messer arrived at the scene, his neat silver kit dangling from his untouched hand while the other was resting protected in his jacket pocket. It had been a few weeks since all the cartilage was torn in his left hand with a few broken metacarpal bones and while it was healing quite nicely, the CSI in Danny was a perfectionist and any unnecessary exposure was unacceptable.

"Yo Flack," he greeted, eyes a little bleary from having them hovering over a microscope most of the morning. "I hear we got ourselves a floater."

"You always spoil my surprises for you," he said with feigned disappointment and turning to walk with Danny back toward the bloated body now lying on the grass. No matter how many times he saw one, Flack never got used to the murky black and grey color that the skin turned and he found himself staring at his notebook, reciting the usual information he gathered. Today was a little different, at least, the worker being a John Doe and would probably stay that way for awhile. The fish had gotten to him before the cops had, eating away most of his eyes and about half of his face and if he were to venture a guess they'd probably nibbled away his fingerprints as well. Witnesses around the area said there had been some major construction going on in the nearby half-finished building that was to be a realty company, each saying that so many workers came in and out of the frame it would be hard to identify anyone in particular.

"Beautiful," Danny noted, peering over the rim of his glasses at the lumpy mass and scrunching up his nose. The smell hadn't diminished much during its fermentation in the water and it was ripe, sticking to Danny's nostrils and he knew he'd be smelling those gases all day long. "Any good news for me, Don?"

Flack smiled and started away from the body, no longer able to tolerate the smell and thankful he didn't have to stick around to process evidence. "Ah, then I wouldn't be doin' my job, Messer. Have fun, uh?"

Danny waved absently and glanced at his watch, groaning internally. Just beautiful.


	2. Bottom's Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except my mystery girl. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

By late afternoon they knew little more than they had when John Doe was bobbing along like a giant red delicious waiting to be plucked. Sid's autopsy revealed a through and through to the chest, more specifically, the heart, and the organ had just obliterated upon impact. Sid then had to proceed with a dramatic demonstration of how the heart explodes kind of like an apple, making a lovely little sauce and acting a little more excited about the analogy than Mac was.

Along with the bullet wound, there was blunt force trauma to the base of the skull but wasn't contributory to death, Sid's estimation being that it was simply to stun the guy since there was no intra cranial bleeding or major bruising, a fact that kept Danny and Mac still standing in square one. No bullet, no ID, no witnesses, and if there were ever a time Mac wanted to curse it was now, a thick four letter word that would sum up the whole day dancing on the tip of his tongue. Sitting at his desk, the clock ticking on the wall the late hour of six o'clock, Mac almost said it, his eyes studying the slender case file lying open before him.

"Wanna grab a beer?" Danny asked, leaning halfway in to Mac's office and nodding toward the door. Mac looked up from the file at him, distracted by the nonsensical aspect of finding a construction worker shot dead and no one hearing a thing.

"Did Flack interview the foreman?" he asked, having not heard the question, just Danny's voice and the latter furrowed his brow.

"Uh, yeah, said that the foreman didn't seem to be missing anyone that he knew of but he was sure the guy's ID would turn up eventually. Payday brings them all runnin', you know." -Danny opened the door a little wider and stood up straighter, cocking his head to the side as he watched Mac nod and look back down at the file. "Come on, let's grab a beer at Bottom's Up, play a little pool, and forget about this guy for awhile. Don reserved us a table and Montana and Stella are already there."

Bottom's Up? That was a new place from their usual O'Malley's, then again it was always hard to get a table at that place, much less a seat at the bar. Only today was a Wednesday and Mac was a creature of habit, it was how he functioned. So he declined quietly, telling Danny he had a previous engagement.

"Bah," Danny grinned, waving his hand at him. "A date with your guitar is more important, huh? Listen, you change your mind you know where to find us."

And then he was gone, his now shrinking frame heading toward the elevator where Hawkes was finishing buttoning up his shirt and waiting for Danny, and Mac watched them converse a moment. There was a twinge of regret that sprang up inside him and he absently shuffled some papers over his desk. Maybe he'd join them after all. Peyton had decided to stay in London a little longer with her mom so it wasn't as though he had anywhere more important to be. Besides all that, he'd grown accustomed to having someone mill around his apartment and going home to it as it was now, empty like it had been for so long, was more than enough to inspire him to get out and loosen up a little bit.

* * *

The pool hall was poorly lit with dying light bulbs and flashing TVs that were showing the Colts' game but with the layer of hazy cigarette smoke that hung over most of the tables and around the bar it was hard to see who was winning. The familiar clack of pool balls rang out from various tables while people talked and joked around, heady from the beer and the warmth of the confining hall and the small group in the back corner was just that: another group a little tipsy and laughing as though the day's work didn't consist of murders and forensics. Sitting on one of the stools against the wall, her arms draped lazily over Danny's shoulders as she watched Flack circle the table, was Lindsay Monroe, thoroughly enjoying the interaction between all of them. It had been awhile since they could all get together, each one having overtime or other things going on outside of work, and she found herself smiling occasionally at how precious these gatherings were and the friendships that strengthened, although she kept that to herself. While Stella may have understood, the guys would only shrug it off with a laugh, but that was okay. That was who they were.

Leaning forward over the lip of the green felt, Flack lined up his shot, as well as a clear line of site for the group of girls at the table just to the left of him. The four of them had been admiring the backsides of all three men as they had leaned forward, even giggling obviously, and while Don had found it flattering it first, it became old after the first hour. Narrowing one eye, ignoring the girls behind him, he was just shy of sinking the three ball when Danny spoke, asking a question that ruined Don's concentration and the three rocketed against all the bumpers before it coasted to a stop in the middle of the green. More flustered than upset, he looked up at the CSI and shook a finger at him.

"You trying to break my concentration, Messer?" he asked, standing back up at which Danny shot back:

"You trying to avoid my question, Flack?"

Looking down at his hip he noted it himself as though for the first time, it seemed, and he felt somewhat disappointed. His cell phone was on, had been all day long, but there were no missed calls, no new messages. Not that he wanted the girl to be hurt but there was that desperate side of him that longed for a female contact, preferably one that didn't dress in a halter top and Daisy Duke shorts while she ogled his butt. It wasn't often he made any real effort to date but if he allowed himself to be, he could succumb to being a hopeless romantic and that woman calling probably would have made his day, as pathetic as that sounded even to himself. That woman. He didn't even know her name.

"Don't you ever expect phone calls?" he asked, resting his weight against the wall and shouldering the cue stick. "I was hoping to get a call back from the foreman about our John Doe."

Quick thinking, Don. Get them talking about the case instead of focusing on the sad state of your social life, which really was quite sad, almost grievous. The last date he'd been on was almost six months ago and at that he was still dealing with chest pain from the explosion. The girl had been a purist, a nice little tidbit Don would've liked to have known before going out with her, and the moment she'd spotted him popping a Vicodin she'd stormed out, going so far as to call him an addict. He certainly knew how to pick 'em.

But Danny didn't buy the excuse, moving to take his own shot and sinking a few stripes before pointing his cue stick at Flack. "That's bull and you know it. What's her name?"

No use hiding it now, and as Flack dodged an empty peanut shell thrown from Lindsay's direction, he shrugged and watched as Danny missed the ten. "Don't know. Met her this morning."

The memory of her flashed vividly in his mind, every detail of her garb, the style of her curls and he had the fleeting thought that he now knew how CSIs noticed everything. He seemed to remember a messenger bag that was an army tan color with a weathered Good Charlotte patch safety-pinned to the flap and a another patch next to it of some starfish cartoon blowing bubbles. A name Flack vaguely recognized was stitched close by the patches and he wondered if the name belonged to her, dismissing the idea in the same minute. It was Gaelic, that much he remembered from his father's family history lessons, but not too many Irish friends he had known had such obviously cultural names, so he didn't bother correcting himself to Danny. Better to just leave it alone.

"I doubt she'll call, though," Don said absently, trying to remember the pronunciation of the name but having little luck. It had been years since his grandfather had passed away and even longer since his father had been back to Ireland to visit old family. It had been a past his father wanted to put behind him for good and sadly, it was a past Don knew little about considering much of the family barely acknowledged relatives across the pond. "If she hasn't by now then she won't."

"Now that's no way to think," Stella interjected, the comment being one of few she'd made all evening. The veteran CSI had been distracted with something most of the day, closing herself away in the A/V lab and going over camera footage that was from an old case. No one had inquired, knowing that it wouldn't really do any good, and instead just trying to make the night as enjoyable as possible for her. Stella may have been the kind of friend to listen to you all day long but when it came to divulging her own personal problems and demons she keyed up tightly and resented any forceful prying into what was going on in her life. When she was ready to tell you, she'd seek you out, and it was usually an emotional experience when she did. "Looking at life as a half empty glass of wine will depress you every time." -she winked at him then looked over the situation of the pool table. "You're a healthy young man. She'll call."

Just as she took a shot, sinking the one with ease in an already crowded corner pocket, the whole group started a hearty cheer, raising beer bottles and mugs to the two approaching men. Everyone had hoped Mac would show up before the night's end, it being a rarity that he joined the group at their usual O'Malley's to begin with let alone a place further away. Mac waved, sipping from a long neck as Hawkes put the fresh pitcher of beer on the high table next to Lindsay before explaining he'd found their fearless leader at the front door looking a little lost. Trying to defend his honor, Mac tried to tell them he was merely assessing the joint, laughing the entire time while Hawkes imitated the apparent look he'd had on his face and making the whole group laugh.

"Give me a cue stick," he ordered, still laughing. With the void finally filled, the six of them played well into the night, uninhibited by the early start each of them had in the morning.


	3. Caoimhe

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters, except for my mystery girl. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

It wasn't quite four in the morning when Don's cell phone rang, buzzing loudly against his bedside table before he rolled over beneath a warm mound of blankets and smacked a hand over it. Without even looking at the caller ID he silenced the phone, knowing full well the only people that called at such a ludicrous hour were fellow detectives that were jealous of you sleeping and not themselves, wanting you to work a case in the below freezing temperatures and be as miserable as they are. No sir, not this morning, not when Flack's head still hammered like a Japanese drum and he lied there a moment, staring at the ceiling as it seemed to pulse with the beat of his headache and he suddenly had to go to the bathroom.

"Too much beer," he muttered under his breath as he sat up, immediately regretting the action. Cold air slammed against his bare back and made him cringe which, in turn, caused a shock of pain to hit his head and he groaned, absently wondering how much bed pans cost. Getting up to pee was so overrated.

Padding over to his closet, Don grabbed the t-shirt that was hanging on the handle and slipped it over his head before heading back across the floor to visit the bathroom, his mind distracted with thoughts of taking a Vicodin for his migraine and blissfully slipping back to sleep before the early wake-up call for work. Scratching at his head groggily, he looped around to the right with a glance at the couch to make sure he didn't slam his hip against the arm rest again like he had the last middle-of-the-night trip he made but failed to notice what was in front of him. His foot caught in a warm bulge and sent him teetering forward before the vertigo took over and caused his head to complete the fall, lolling downward and his arms shot up just as he made a belly flop against the hardwood floor.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Don watched the hulk on the floor shift its weight only slightly at the disturbance before settling in again and Don suddenly remembered that Danny had literally crashed in his apartment for the night. His own apartment was being fumigated (Lindsay had discovered, gasp! Ants) and Lindsay had wanted to get an early start for the weekend; she was going to visit her mother with her last remaining days of vacation, leaving Danny without a pad for the night.

"Danny," he said sharply, kicking him in the butt and causing him to lurch onto his stomach. "Danny get off my floor. You'll catch yourself pneumonia."

Which wasn't too far from the truth. It had to have been at least ten degrees colder on the floor, the hardwood seeming to just emit frost when the heater wasn't running. Lumbering to his feet, Danny mumbled something that vaguely sounded like "asshole" before staggering to the couch and sprawling over the cushions but Don didn't bother to retaliate. His bladder was too full to bursting to care about getting angry so he hurried to the bathroom.

Finishing a minute or so later, Don then made his way to the kitchen where a prescription vial sat near the sink among a few vitamins his doctor was "strongly" encouraging him to take but he had stopped worrying about them a few weeks ago. The iron was making his stomach loopy and the niacin was absolutely worthless. What did he need to improve his memory for anyway? It was fine the way it was, and it was the amber vial that remained the only pill he took religiously anymore. While his chest pain hadn't gotten worse, it certainly hadn't gone completely away and he was thankful for refills, especially on occasions he decided to have a little too much fun.

Don dumped one oval, powdery tablet onto his palm then popped it in his mouth. Bending over, he turned on the faucet and took a sip without bothering with a cup or his hands, swallowing the pill with a sense of relief. Knowing that once his head hit the pillow again, he would be dreaming about absolutely nothing; a nice change from the usual crime scenes that replayed in his head while he slept restlessly.

With a deep breath he headed back toward his bedroom, groaning when he heard the buzz of his cell phone and he finally resigned to answer it. Maybe it was more important than he thought it was, so he got to it before it stopped ringing and answered with a less-than-friendly greeting, but it wasn't a cop. In fact, it wasn't even a voice he recognized and he listened a moment as the frantic woman rambled on into his ear.

"Woah, woah, wait a minute, calm down," he tried to reason with her but she was screaming almost incoherently, Don barely gathering that someone was there with her and that was all he needed to hear. If she was that frantic then it was an attacker and she didn't have much time so he acted fast, grabbing up his land-line phone and dialing dispatch, ordering the operator to get a trace on his cell phone. It was an apartment building three blocks away and one Flack recognized. Getting dressed, he quickly shouldered his gun holster and left.

* * *

Much to his own shock, Don wasn't entirely surprised to see the woman he'd met from the morning before standing on the other side of her apartment door from him, a deep gash above her eye that was bleeding down her face and mixing with the tears she had been crying. A split was in the middle of her bottom lip, nothing serious but big enough to look painful and she looked emotionally broken with her arms crossed and curled up inside a heavy blue sweater.

"Detective Flack," she greeted with a forced smile and a sniff, reaching up to fix her tousled hair as best she could before allowing him entrance inside to a ransacked living area. Looking around he noted papers strewn across the floor, cushions thrown all the way to the windows and even broken glass. Whatever happened had been ugly and she was handling it too well, leading Don to believe it wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

Looking back at her, he did the only thing he could do and smiled, making a light joke to break the ice. "The dispatcher couldn't pronounce your name."

And it worked. The girl smiled knowingly, it not being the first time someone stumbled over the spelling of her name and she quickly stepped by him, suddenly struck with the desire to clean.

"Yeah," she began, falling to her knees and scooping up the papers into a pile. Don knelt next to her and helped, handing her mostly sheets that were handwritten and illegible. "I get that a lot."

Reaching around him, she grabbed a relatively blank piece of paper and a pen from her sweater pocket and leaned over it studiously. Scribbling something down quickly she showed it to him and Don immediately recognized it from her messenger bag. Caoimhe. No wonder dispatch stumbled over it.

"It's pronounced Keeva; K-E-E-V-A, and I usually just spell it like that," she went on, her tone somewhat nervous, and she would've continued without Don's next interruption.

"Beautiful at birth," he said quietly, more to himself than to her and she looked at him, the shock evident in her face which mirrored his own. Maybe the niacin really was working for him. "A cousin of mine has that name and my mom always loved the meaning of it."

Well, it was only a half lie. He didn't remember where he came across the meaning of it but it wasn't from his mother. That area of his memory was a little hazy, almost like he was trying to peer into it through a thin piece of gauze and he conveniently forgot that the pain medication he'd taken only thirty minutes ago usually did that to him. Like it mattered to him anyway; he was too preoccupied with stealing glances at her to care. Despite her battered face she was beautiful, her soft green eyes her dominate feature and if Don let himself, he could stare into them all day long.

"Can I get you some coffee or tea or anything?" she asked at length, finally breaking the shared gaze and standing up, their bodies coming dangerously close to colliding and Don heard her breath catch. With a smile he nodded, telling her coffee was fine despite how he longed to climb back into his warm bed and sleep the rest of the morning away. A short three more hours would find him slouching groggily over his desk and dreading any type of phone call demanding that he do his job.

Tucking the sweater around herself, Keeva crossed her arms again and led him to the kitchenette, instructing him to leave the rest of the mess for later and to sit at the bar. He was a guest, after all, and where were her manners for not treating him like one? It was becoming increasingly obvious that she was avoiding the impending question Don was going to ask but he really didn't see the need to. He'd seen and interviewed enough battered women to put two and two together, and he had a mind to give her his sister's phone number, the big shot lawyer of the family.

"You know," he started, about to offer Amy's services but he held his tongue as he watched her scoop coffee into the filter. If Keeva wanted to press charges she would've made a bigger deal of the situation but instead she was playing hostess at four thirty in the morning like her lip wasn't still bleeding and a worried detective wasn't sitting at her kitchenette counter.

Looking at him as she turned the coffee pot on, she smiled and lightly danced on her toes. "Can you hold that thought?" she asked with a scrunch of her nose. "I'm gonna go clean up. Uh... mugs are in the cabinet next to the fridge and if you're hungry, well...all I really have is ice cream and yogurt."

Her face brightened as she met his eyes and she drummed her fingers on the counter a moment before licking her lips. "Hey maybe we can grab a pastry for breakfast around the corner, my treat since...well, since I bothered you so early."

And she quickly made her exit to her bedroom, Don watching her a moment until the door closed behind her. There was something about this girl he couldn't quite put his finger on but she was intriguing none-the-less, making Don want to find out everything he could about her, and he decided that his Friday night was going to consist of a date with her, no matter how hard he had to try to get her to say yes.

**A/N:** Thanks for the review :-) It's very encouraging and I hope she's what was expected...There will definately be more of her in the next chapter, promise :-)


	4. Finally a Lead

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva and Angie. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Wow, thanks for the awesome review :-) I still have to go back and check the spelling of her name, haha. This chapter is mainly a lot of case details, but also a huge insight into Keeva, subtle though it may be. I hope you enjoy :-)

Three hours after Keeva had made her wounds virtually disappear beneath well-sculpted make-up, Don found himself handing Angie an outrageous amount of money for a breakfast pastry that Keeva had spotted through the front window of Stinger's. Wrapping the pastry up inside a paper bag, Angie grinned broadly as she handed it to him, holding on to it to keep him from leaving just yet.

"Next time bring her inside," she winked, making Don blush slightly as he started for the door.

"Right, Angie," he called back to her, waving a hand over his shoulder before pushing through the glass door to where Keeva waited anxiously. As soon as she saw him she jumped him, snatching the bag away and tearing into it excitedly.

"Ooooo, thank you, thank you," she cooed, eying the frosted treat before cramming a mouthful past her lips in such a way Don would've thought she hadn't eaten in days. "Dinner last night was just a banana."

Her words were muffled from the bread and she looked away, embarrassed at the expression on Don's face but he didn't say anything, instead stealing a piece of her pastry as they continued their walk down the street. It didn't look like anything special, just a small loaf with frosting drizzled over it but once he tasted it he knew why Keeva had insisted upon it. A decadent strawberry syrup was inside and Don found himself licking what had trailed down his thumb, not wanting to leave any of it to be washed away later.

"Hey," he started as she gobbled up the last of the pastry, watching her flick her tongue over a spot of syrup that had stuck to her lip and he cleared his throat, glancing away. "Friday night. You uh, you free?"

Keeva uttered a fake gasp and looked up at him, her eyes dancing with the morning mist around them. "Are you asking me out, Detective Flack? Because if you are I might just have to say yes. After all, what girl on God's green earth could deny those baby blues of yours?" -she giggled a little, dancing across the crosswalk once the light turned green and Flack followed her, laughing in spite of himself. It had been more simple than he'd thought it would be but he didn't bother himself with rationalizing like the cop in him always did. Instead he let himself just be happy.

Rounding the corner a few yards ahead, Keeva turned on her heels and waved at him. "Thanks for the pastry, Donnie! Pick me up at my place Friday; I'll be waiting!"

* * *

The break room was abuzz with a gathered group of four swapping Japanese take-out boxes and jokingly arguing over who got what as though there wasn't enough of everything to go around. Danny had been allowed first pick by Mac's decree and although Danny griped they were giving him too much special treatment because of his hand, it didn't stop him from making his choice with the biggest grin. Chopsticks in hand, he began scarfing down his sweet and sour pork while everyone else still bantered over who got what.

"Okay, so I found the RO of the hunting rifle, you know from the double homicide a couple weeks ago?" Danny said after everyone had settled in, ready to discuss business. "Turns out, it's registered to a guy named Lerner McGraw. Guy's been in and out of jail for poaching and hunting out of season but he's been out of the picture for awhile now."

"Dead?" Mac asked and Danny shook his head. "Mm, Sing Sing. What about the construction worker? Have we ID'ed him yet?"

It was Stella's turn to contribute, sitting up and shaking her head as she swallowed her chicken. "Flack said that the foreman didn't have anyone missing from his team so we're still at square one."

"All right. Stella, Danny, you guys go back to the construction site and see if you can't locate that bullet," Mac ordered before moving on to another case but was interrupted as Flack knocked on the glass, giving them a short wave and a smile. Motioning him inside, Mac made room for him by shifting closer to Stella while offering whatever food they hadn't already ravaged.

Box of chicken in hand, Flack leaned back in the chair to relax, it being the first time he'd sat down in over two hours having chased down a petty thief through Times Square during rush hour. He let heave a sigh of contentment as he popped the piece of chicken in his mouth, almost forgetting just how good Kabuto's take-out menu was. He really should eat there more often on his lunch breaks.

"So is this going to be a new tradition?" he asked with a grin and motioning to all the food with his chopsticks. "Because if that's the case then I'm putting in for a transfer."

The joke prompted a laugh but it was quickly forgotten as Danny tossed a balled up napkin at him and tapped on the face of his watch. "So where were you at six this morning while I stumbled around trying to find your stinking coffee mugs?"

But for some reason Flack didn't want to answer him. It wasn't exactly from embarrassment of a new girl in his life but rather that she was still fragile and the last thing he wanted was for someone calling him up and wanting to get together with the two of them. Was it selfishness? Maybe. He didn't exactly want to share her with anyone yet, especially with people who made a living noticing the little things to complete the big picture. Keeva's situation wouldn't stay secret very long with Stella's watchful eye, and ever since the explosion, Danny had paid a little extra attention to him and his surroundings as well.

"When New York's people call upon the fine brass of the city, chivalry knows no hour, Messer," he joked once more and Flack was somewhat proud of himself. He'd managed to divert their attention once more with a laugh and he was hoping he wouldn't have to do it again. His brain was still short circuiting from the early wake-up call and he was more worried about the mountain of paperwork he had yet to fill out with the construction worker's death rather than have to defend himself to his co-workers.

They caught him up on their findings, Danny telling him that he and Stella were headed back out to the site and asked if he wanted to come with, maybe interview a few more people who were around but Flack declined. It was Friday and he wanted an early start on the evening rather than having to traipse all over the city trying to find one worthwhile witness.

* * *

Despite the late hour, the precinct was abuzz with people coming and going, officers chatting behind reception about things Keeva could only imagine as she sat in the chair next to Flack's desk, drumming her fingers on the peeling vinyl as she waited anxiously for him. A promised few minutes had turned into almost an hour, and Keeva was now trying to pass the time by watching the activity as she absently kicked at Don's chair, making it swivel and squeak.

_Boredom_, she thought, spying a man in handcuffs being led away by a uniform and she rubbed at her wrists, looking elsewhere. _Fleeting though it is I wish I were free of it now. Hmm, maybe all this waiting is a good thing. Maybe it'll make spending the evening with him that much better_.

"Sorry, Keeva. Another detective caught me off guard," Don said, interrupting her reverie and she smiled up at him, loving the way his apology made his eyes gleam just a little.

From his hand dropped an open manilla folder onto his desk and he heaved a sigh, thinking about how far behind he was in many of his active cases, the worst one being that dead floater, a body that was quickly becoming the bane of his existence. It had been almost a week and every piece of evidence that seemed to be useful ended up railroading them straight into a brick wall.

The picture stared up at him tauntingly, pushing him to try harder although there was nothing to go on. Only that was the last thing he wanted to stress over since a lovely Italian restaurant in the Village had a table waiting for them al fresco. Lovely candlelight, starry sky, a bottle of Merlot...

"Oh my gosh," Keeva whispered suddenly and Don noticed her eyes on the graphic autopsy photos he'd callously left lying open, not once thinking Keeva would notice them. "Is that...Jimmy McGraw? Oh Jimmy..."

Sitting down to be eye level with her, Don was suddenly in interrogation mode, popping off one question after another and getting frustrated that Keeva wasn't very forthcoming. With every question she'd chew on her bottom lip before repeating herself that Jimmy was simply a classmate and that she didn't know him beyond a few cups of coffee.

"Look," she said finally, getting up and drawing her purse up to rest on her shoulder. "I didn't wait here for an hour to be questioned by a cop. I waited her for you to take me to dinner so either we eat or you take me home right now."

_Nice going, Flack. Piss the beautiful woman off by making her feel like a criminal. This is why you never get laid, and why Miss Au Naturale smacked the hell out of your face when you flushed her marijuana down the toilet_.

Another apology escaped him as he stood up, motioning toward the door and thinking how interesting the night was going to be. There was more to Keeva than he originally gave her credit for. Sometimes the abused are the strongest people you'd ever meet.


	5. Something More than Innocence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

"You know, if you had just waited, I would've told you."

The two of them were sitting on a bench in Central Park, their stomachs full of hearty Italian food and both of them a little heady from the bottle of wine shared between them. Keeva giggled a little after she let a whisper of a burp escape and Don looked at her, wondering for a moment what she was talking about.

"Told me what?" he asked her and she giggled again, letting her hand fall on his thigh as she leaned against him. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Keeva didn't hold her alcohol very well and Don had a mind to take her home before the wine began making decisions for her, decisions he wasn't sure he could deny her for very long.

"You know, about Jimmy. I just needed time to process what happened to him," she explained and the change in subject sobered her a little. "What did happen to him, Don?"

She wasn't stupid, and Don knew sugar coating a friend's death would hurt her worse than the ugly truth. So he told her, even giving her more information than he was supposed to but not caring. If Keeva was closer to Jimmy than she was letting on then she needed what closure he could provide for her.

After a long pause she looked at him, meeting his eyes with a look he didn't quite expect. Confusion, and he asked her what was wrong.

"Construction? Are you sure? Jimmy worked as a park ranger up north during the winter. He shouldn't have even been in the city this time of year." -she furrowed her brow and shook her head, murmuring something under her breath that Don didn't understand. "I dunno, maybe he got out of that, but hey, we're not here to talk about Jimmy. We're here to enjoy the crisp evening and walk off our food."

Don groaned as she dragged him to his feet. "Ugh...who said anything about walking? My stomach's so full it hurts to even sit."

There was friendly bantering between them as they walked, Keeva teasing him that a real man could handle a deep dish of stuffed tortellini and Don teasing her that a real woman could hold her wine better. It was nice to laugh, to carry on like Don hadn't just told a mother her daughter was killed by a drunk driver or a husband that his wife threw herself off the roof of their apartment building. It was nice to enjoy a woman's company again, to feel like if he wanted to, Don could get serious, allow himself to love someone again, and as he stood with her in the midst of a light drizzle of rain he realized this.

"Keeva," he said quietly, stopping himself before their lips met and almost hating the fact that he did so. Some things were just worth waiting for. "Maybe I should..."

He trailed off, furrowing his brow at what he saw and for a moment even doubting it with all the wine sloshing around in his stomach. "Hey...you're bleeding."

From her left nostril ran a thin tendril of blood, an amazing bright red color that shone under the yellow street lamps. Dabbing at her upper lip, she gasped then began rummaging through her purse. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. This rarely happens. Oh geezes, where are my tissues?"

"Here," Don said quietly, handing her the handkerchief from his pocket before looping an arm around her shoulders. "Let me get you home."

So he led her back to his car and made the short trip back to her apartment, the drive consisting of Keeva's quiet explanation of her nose bleeds, an explanation Don insisted that she didn't need to tell him. Chronic conditions, no matter if they manifest physically or not, are always so private and no one else's business, especially someone you've just met. Mistaking his insisting with chastising, Keeva quieted, fixing her gaze out the window and watching the buildings blur by as Don drove.

A few minutes later they were standing in front of her apartment, Keeva's hand resting comfortably within his as she unlocked her door and just as she stepped inside, she turned and looked at him intently.

"He left town yesterday, told me he was going to Canada with his new..._girl_friend." -another word was on the tip of her tongue but she refrained from using it. "Do you think...do you think he'll really leave me alone? Now that...well..."

The tiniest of smiles twitched at the corner of her mouth and with that smile was an unspoken agreement between the two of them, Don squeezing her hand gently as affirmation.

"Now that I have you," she finished with almost a whisper, leaning in close. Don could smell the sweet wine on her breath, the scent just as intoxicating as the beverage, and he met her halfway, no longer able to deny what she was insisting.

Standing on the balls of her feet, Keeva crushed her lips to his and let herself fall against him, loving his warmth as she slipped her arms between his jacket and shirt. They stayed that way a long moment, neither of them wanting to break away but both knowing it was too soon.

"I uh...I have to go," Don said against her lips, dreading the empty bed he was going home to, the early wake up call to another murder he'd have to investigate. "When can I see you again?"

"Hm..." she murmured with a wink, slinking back into her apartment. "Why don't you call me and I'll let you know?"

_Oh this woman is going to turn me into putty before she's through with me..._

And then her door closed, leaving him in the hallway wanting more.

**A/N:** Ah, the proverbial first date. I hope it was agreeable? Things are definitely going to get very interesting, I think, with Keeva knowing more about Jimmy than she's letting on. Let me know what you think :-)


	6. Once Bitten Twice Shy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for my Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** This may be the last posting for a little while, unless someone can give me a really awesome idea :-) I've come to a standstill of where I want Don and Keeva's relationship to go, especially after the events in this chapter. That and I'm starting school here soon which never leaves me any time to write, boo hoo :-P But please, I hope you enjoy.

Breathing deep, Flack wondered briefly how any human could possibly live in such an environment. The smell alone, dank and musty like a wet dog, was enough to curl your toes and the noises...he hated the noises those old buildings made and secreted like an oily residue, and he often found himself thanking God he lived as well as he did, be it somewhat selfishly sometimes.

Beside him, kit in one hand and injured hand stuck deep in his pocket, Messer kept up with Don's long strides quite well as he prodded the fellow detective about his date the previous night, already having dispensed with the expected information of no bullet at the construction site and Don had managed to find out Jimmy lived with his sister, Leslie McGraw.

"A gentleman never asks, a lady never tells," Don said with a grin and a sideways glance at Danny. It was a stolen line from a Broken Lizard film the two had watched not long ago, each drinking an untold number of beers the whole movie and the night had ended with a crank call to Stella at two in the morning. Asking them about it a few hours later, the two had just looked at each other, feigning ignorance.

"Seriously?" Danny said incredulously, throwing a glance in Don's direction and the latter stifled a laugh deep in his throat. Danny's widened eyes looked like saucers behind his new lenses. "You're not going to tell me how it went? Flack, I'm crushed."

They rounded a corner and shortly came to a stop in front of 22E, Don taking the front.

"It's just that there's not much to tell," he answered with a shrug, flipping his coat back to uncover his gun and gripping the handle. With his other hand he knocked firmly, calling through the door. "Leslie McGraw? NYPD. Would you open the door?"

He leaned in and listened through the warped, discolored wood, casting his blue eyes at Danny sharply and nodded. "She's making a run for it."

With a trained quickness, Don took a step back then lurched forward, kicking the door in with a deafening crash in time to spot a slender figure pushing the window to the fire escape open. A shock of winter wind blew inside and caught her thick scarf, making it billow and writhe and catching her off guard enough that Don managed to get close to her. She acted fast, though, jabbing a foot on his shin and he stumbled, slamming into the window sill. Bright stars exploded in his eyes and had he stopped to check he would've dabbed blood from his nose.

Clamoring out the window, the girl gained a good three seconds on him before Don regained his composure and climbed out the window after her. She was fast gaining distance between him by the time he scaled two flights and she was on the concrete as he barely missed snatching her scarf.

But he caught a break, noticing her falter and limping to her feet as she struggled to fix the beanie covering most of her head. It was enough of a pause to give Flack the advantage and he definitely took it, sailing from the bottom level of the fire escape to the ground, tackling the woman in the process. A loud oof escaped her, arms shooting skyward as she fell beneath his weight and there was a shuffle of arms and legs as Don struggled to secure her wrists with his cuffs, but she was quick. Throwing her weight left, she then rolled right until they were face to face but Don never had the chance to study her features. The woman sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and bit down hard enough to draw blood.

Now, he'd been shot once, grazed a few times and even blown up by a psycho with way too much time on his hands but bitten? Who bites when they're over the age of five? Too shocked to retaliate, Don simply sat back on his haunches and watched her scramble away, thinking somewhere in his mind that he should be grateful. The majority of women have one fall back when they're out of options and that's to ruin a man's weekend like Lauren Wilkes had done in eighth grade, and Don groaned at the flash of memory. Lauren was the reason he never pulled April Fool's Day pranks anymore.

Slowly, he made it to his feet and attempted to try and chase her but once he reached the opening of the alley he gave up. His neck was bleeding and she was probably half-way to a subway train by now.

"Yo Flack!" Danny called from five floors up. "I think you better come see this!"

But just as Flack started for the door his cell phone rang and the man on the other end was near frantic, rambling off something excitedly until Don forced an interruption.

"Wait, Sid, what do you mean TOD is wrong?"

The coroner took a breath to steady himself before he repeated his findings. "Your vic, Jimmy McGraw. He's been dead longer than a few days. A lot longer."

* * *

There were three of them standing at the foot of the autopsy slab where Sid had moved McGraw to re-examine him, and the trio was waiting impatiently for the coroner to return, especially Danny who was still mulling over the impossibility of the day's events. A dead man doesn't go sailing three days after he's found bobbing in the river and despite Flack's reasoning that the date stamp on the digital camera could have been wrong, Messer wasn't convinced. 

"Okay, okay," Sid said loudly, his voice reaching them before he made it completely through the door. "Time to exercise my genius." -to which he added quietly. "Although I made a very rookie mistake. Instead of examining him more closely I made an educated guess. Your vic? He's been dead almost two months. You see this gunshot wound here? It's fresh compared to another cut I found on his side."

They all leaned in, seeing the blatant evidence as Sid explained away the reason for the gunshot wound being so new. "It was made post-mortem. Somebody wanted to really make sure he wasn't going claw out of his grave."

Suddenly, Mac slapped his hand against Don's arm and snapped his fingers expectantly. "Hey. Gimme that photo of McGraw. This might actually make sense."

Taking the photo from Don's offered hand, Mac leaned in closer to the body and studied each in turn until a smile broke across his face. "I knew it," he said, satisfied at his realization and nodded toward the body. "Our floater's still a John Doe. This isn't Jimmy McGraw, which means Keeva lied to you, Flack."


	7. Chocolate Makes Everything Better

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Angie and Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** The name Don uses, Daideo, is Gaelic for "grandfather" and is pronounced "dah-joh", and thanks for the great reviews. I got some wonderful ideas for where to go and I really appreciate it. I hope you guys enjoy these two chapters :-)

It was late evening when Don finally clocked out, wishing the few remaining swing shifters a good night, his hands buried deep inside his coat pockets and shoulders slumped, his body language saying what he had wanted to scream for the last eight hours. Today had been a shitty day and it had qualified to be one only within the morning, which meant it had the rest of Flack's shift to get worse, and it did. Shortly after his little field trip to the morgue, one of the D.A.'s minions had called him with some lame excuse as to why a guy Don had arrested for shooting and killing a convenience store clerk was let off with a slap on the wrist.

But the worst? The worst was always the little things that put the final decorative swirl on the cake. The only two dollars he had in his wallet was now in the belly of the precinct's snack machine, munching on the last of his paycheck without so much as dropping the bag of Cheeto's he had wanted badly enough to bang on the plexiglass.

_When the boat runs ashore, the tide has spoken._

It was an old Irish proverb he remembered his grandfather saying shortly before he died, trying to instill a little wisdom into his only grandson and Don often found himself repeating those words when circumstances were beyond the ability to understand them. Most of the time it worked, but sometimes didn't when all he had wanted was a stinking, already half-empty bag of Cheeto's from a money-muncher.

"Oh Daideo," he sighed at his grandfather somewhere deep inside as he stepped out the door where the streets were already dark with the winter chill. "If only it were that easy to accept."

Taking in a deep breath, Don cinched up his coat and started for his apartment, foregoing a cab ride despite the temperature. The cold helped him think, kept him focused, and after Sid's findings and the day he wanted to flush down the drain, he definitely needed a little more focus.

_So it's entirely possible that Jimmy McGraw is still alive_, Don thought, kicking at a bottle cap with the tip of his dress shoe. It bounced and tinked across the sidewalk until it rolled with purpose into a steam grate._ But why lie? Maybe he was faking his own death...argh, but why do that if you have no record? _And then there was Keeva identifying the body. There was no reason, no reason at all...

Glancing to the side Don found himself looking in to the large window of Stinger's where Angie was milling around behind the counter with a broom. Tapping on the glass Don managed to get her attention and waved, and it wasn't long before he was reclined in a back booth, his shoulders flush against the wall as he nursed a steaming mug of Belgian Hot Chocolate. Angie had served it to him the way it was meant to be served with an already warmed mug, four sticks of Belgian chocolate, and perfectly heated rich cream to pour over them. No, Don wasn't going to get coffee in the mornings anymore.

"You know, the first time I tried that stuff I was in Paris, sitting outside and watching a muscled waiter bus a table," Angie said with a grin as she sat down across from him. "I haven't drank anything else since."

"I didn't know you'd been to France," Don commented quietly, not helping but to feel a little bit jealous. He'd been to Canada a few times with his folks growing up but spending four hours in the car with two older sisters who used the whole time to practice their cosmetology always kind of ruined the experience. Never once had he ventured across the pond to places far more exotic than Niagra Falls.

With a shrug, Angie shifted in her seat so that she was sitting cross-legged and she then took a slow sip of her own hot chocolate. "After my divorce I wanted to prove to Wilson that I knew how to have more fun without him...and to make that blond bimbo jealous. You know that little whore dated him for _my _money? The irony!"

Don coughed on his chocolate at the comment, Angie's vocabulary catching him a little off guard. He laughed at the same irony she did, knowing ol' Wilson probably never saw another dime, but the day's events couldn't be laughed away, much like the remnant pain still evident in Angie's eyes when she spoke of her ex-husband. Joke all you wanted to but the knife still stayed deep in your back.

"Problems already?" she asked, watching Don curiously as he silenced his cell phone and he shook his head. "Honey, I've got a son your age so don't think you can bullshit me. I know that look, that deep breath."

So with broken details and long lapses of hurt silence, he explained to her what had happened in some kind of hope she could make it go away or at least solve it as easily as she seemed to win her cases years ago, and once he let slip a name she stopped him quickly.

"Wait, did you say McGraw?" -Don nodded and Angie glanced left, tapping her index finger in a pattern, once left once right. "Five years ago, bank heist in Queens. He was one of the last cases I took on before retiring. Shady kind of guy, real clever and boy did he have connections. After I got him out of serving fifteen years, whoever he worked for sent me a nice bonus check."

"But he doesn't have a record."

"Probably had the charge expunged recently." -she shook her head thoughtfully, tapping her index finger again. Left, right...left, right. "Nathan something...a girl who used to attend his hearings called him Nathan something-or-other but I'm not sure. Hey, I'll get my girl over at the practice to FedEx you the case file."

"And Keeva?" Don added quietly, looking at her expectantly and Angie reached across the table, taking his wrist within her maternal grasp, and she squeezed it gently.

"Give her the benefit of the doubt, Donnie. That was Wilson's greatest gift to me when we got married and while he may have left me twenty-five years later...I always loved him for trusting me."

A silence ensued, Don mulling over her advice as she leaned back in the booth and took a long, slow sip of her hot chocolate, satisfied at the decision Don made before he hurried from the café moments later.


	8. In Dreams

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

A white styrofoam cup sat inches away from Keeva's clasped hands on the table, the hot coffee inside of it still steaming into the cold air of the interrogation room. Thirty minutes had inched by agonizingly slow, Keeva having to sit alone and stare at a broken tile across the room from her where it lay in three pieces in the corner. A hundred different ways of how it could've broken ran through her mind, none of them good and then the door creaked open, interrupting her morbid imagination, and she almost wanted to squeal with relief. It was Donnie; he'd set them straight for sure.

Taking a quiet step inside, Flack shut the door as he hung his head slightly, eyes studying the folder he held in one hand and while Keeva should have been worrying about why she was going to be questioned, she couldn't. On Don's hip rested his gun, a sleek gunmetal silver that bounced tauntingly as he walked to the table and just beside the holster were his handcuffs.

_Meow_, she purred to herself, watching him approach the table and she started slightly when he unexpectedly jerked the chair around in order to sit on it backwards. His steely blue eyes bored in to her as he pushed the folder over the table at her and tapped an index finger on the picture of Jimmy's dead body.

"Tell me something, Keeva," he demanded, loosening his tie and she licked her lips watching him unbutton the starched folds of his collar. "Tell me why that's not Jimmy on that slab. You covering for somebody? Your ex, maybe?"

"Hey, I told you Justin bailed to Canada and if that's not Jimmy then I don't know where he is. I'm not my brother's keeper."

Don's eyebrows lifted in surprise as he sat up in his chair. "Oh? So you're the one who gave me a little souvenir?" -he pulled down his collar to reveal a bandage taped over his neck, the gauze pink with his blood. "What are you hiding, Keeva? If you know why Jimmy's trying to fake his death then you need to tell me."

Reaching around behind him, Flack pulled out his handcuffs and dangled them in front of her, making Keeva's breath catch.

"Or what?" she asked quietly, leaning in and smelling the musky scent of his cologne. "Are you gonna lock me up, Detective Flack?"

Keeva stood, grabbing hold of Don's tie and pulling him up with her but as she planted both knees on the cold metal of the table something began to feel a little off, kind of like a corny Harlequin Romance novel she used to read when she was in high school. This was becoming almost too cliche, and she could almost predict what was going to happen next but she didn't try to stop herself. If this was a dream then she certainly wanted to see the end of it.

Before she knew it they were on the table, lips crushing hungrily against each other as she struggled to divest him of his dress shirt, longing to touch every bare inch of him but Don had stopped suddenly and pulled away from her.

No...no, no, no. I hate dreams like this!

And then he fluttered away in a puff just before Keeva's eyes shot open at the intruding sound of someone knocking on her door. A glance at the clock showed twelve thirty and Keeva groaned, lumbering out of bed and clumsily slipping in to her furry slippers. Being so early in the evening, any other dreams were sure to be a sad disappointment and she pouted at the thought.

"I'm coming!" she shouted as another knock pulsed in her ears and she shuffled sleepily toward the door. Whipping it open she blinked a few times, thinking she may still be dreaming but after she pinched herself, she decided otherwise. "Ignore me all day then wake me up late at night? Real romantic, Donnie."

Don smiled despite her sarcastic tone since Keeva was smiling herself, and he pushed past her inside, taking her by the arm. "Answer me a few questions and I'll believe you, and then I won't bring it up again. What made you identify Jimmy's body?"

_Justin told me to. Told me if I didn't he'd break my legs_. "The gold teeth. Jimmy had two gold teeth, caps of course, and a nose ring. Why?"

_Because he's on to you, babe. Donnie ain't stupid. He knows you've been lying to him about a lot of things. Justin, Jimmy, the nose bleeds._

Flack shook his head as though to say never-mind, and asked another question, squeezing her arms a little tighter. "Have you any reason at all to lie to me about him or anything else?"

_Oh gosh, so many reasons and they all start with my ex..._ "No, of course not. Donnie, what's going on? Are you saying Jimmy's not dead?"

Which if Keeva had been honest with herself she wouldn't have been entirely surprised to find this out. A few weeks ago before Jimmy had "died" she'd heard through the grapevine that a body had been stolen from the cemetery just outside of the city and not two days later Justin had shown up at her apartment with a baseball bat and a grin. That was when Don became her knight in shining armor, the one man that could make all her little gremlins go away with a simple touch of his hand, and as long as she pretended to herself that her older brother's problems were no longer her own, then she didn't feel so bad fudging just a little to keep Don from leaving her. Besides, if Jimmy was going around stealing bodies to fake deaths, especially his own, then the less she was involved the better. The people he worked for weren't a very forgiving bunch.

"You know what?" he said, an immense relief evident in his voice which mirrored the relief in Keeva. So he wasn't on to her after all. Maybe she could keep herself out of it altogether if Justin would just stay gone, and Jimmy too. "Forget about it. It's not important anymore."

He gently pulled her in to a hug, his eyes capturing her own and Keeva forgot all about the dream, the questions, the doubt.

"Would you stay with me?" she asked, pushing herself up on the balls of her feet and nuzzling Don's nose. It was still cold from the freezing temperature outside and with a smile to herself, Keeva had every intention of warming it up for him. "For tonight, I mean? After all, you owe me for avoiding my calls all day long."

"Oh I do, huh?" he bantered back, hugging her a little tighter and drawing her face closer to his own, and Keeva watched his eyes expectantly as they studied her features. Without another word he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, lifting her off her feet and Keeva giggled as she threw her legs around his waist. The gun that was still holstered on his belt dug almost painfully in to her thigh and it reminded her of her dream. It wasn't exactly an interrogation room but it would most certainly do and as Don stumbled backward into her bedroom, Keeva worked on removing as much clothing as possible between the two of them.

Tonight, nothing else mattered. Not the case, not the loose ends, not the lies. Tonight it was just the two of them moving together like swaying branches in a breeze, intertwined limbs that refused to let go and as the night wore on, both of them began to believe in something again, in each other, and in love.


	9. Broken Moon

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Welcome back faithful readers! And thanks for the review braindamage089 :-) I totally had fun writing that last chapter, smiling the whole time, haha. I'm glad it was enjoyable. It was about time those two scratched some bad itches they had b/c this chapter is a little more serious. Anyway, I might not update the rest of the week since Hurricane Dean is projected to hit the Gulf and if that's the case, I'm getting the heck outta dodge. But please, enjoy!

Moonlight cascaded through the windows of the balcony doors and lying shattered over the bedroom floor where Keeva sat, her fingers touching each neon piece in turn. Just feet away Don slept uninhibited, his light snoring causing Keeva to smile whenever he happened to roll onto his back and she wondered briefly what he was dreaming about.

_Maybe it's me_, she thought happily, looking back at her shards of moonlight and tapping at a square that she envisioned picturing Don and herself outside the theater and laughing with friends, or rather just Don's friends. Keeva had none left of her own since the nasty split and she was glad to admit to herself that she didn't care. With friends like those girls, Keeva didn't really need enemies.

_Maybe he's dreaming about us and a future, whatever a future could be for us._

But the more she peered at each neon piece of the moon the more she saw the disappointment that was years past, the life she wouldn't have chosen for herself, and tonight it made her ache more than ever to cleave from what she used to be.

Closing her eyes she ran a hand up her arm, feeling's Don's warmth that still lingered on her skin and reliving the moment over and over in her mind. He had made her feel human again, made her feel worth it, worth knowing, worth waiting for.

_That's why he has to know. That's why you have to tell him. He doesn't deserve to be deceived like this_.

She looked at the bed just as Don stirred, the sheets rustling and moving over him as he shifted his position and his arm fell softly over the void where Keeva should have been. His fingers cinched then relaxed before his head popped up and Keeva couldn't help but think that he looked like a groundhog peeking out from his burrowed home.

A moment later he spotted her sitting in the middle of the floor, the shards of moon having shifted slightly during the course of her reverie so what Don saw was a haloed angel rather than a broken woman struggling to pick herself back up and carry on.

"It's late," she noted, averting her eyes away from him and instead focusing on the balcony doors. "You really should go back to sleep."

Don blinked once, dismissing her being a dream before glancing at the clock then back at her. "Then what are you doing awake?" he demanded softly, thumbing at the digital numbers that read two a.m. "Hey, why don't you come to bed?"

_Come to bed. That sounds nice. I could get used to that..._

Although she was reluctant, continuing to sit hunched and staring at the windows, Keeva finally decided to join him. It was the thought of lying flush against him the rest of the night that won over her guilt and she slipped beneath the blankets, Don's trapped body head immediately warming her. She giggled as he rolled her on to her back and pinned her down, capturing her lips in a kiss she just couldn't deny.

"Tomorrow's a new day," he told her, nuzzling her nose and Keeva grinned. She had certainly warmed his nose up, all right. "Whatever it is, it can certainly wait until morning."

Closing her eyes she nodded, deciding that it _was_ best to wait until morning. Why ruin a perfectly good evening?

* * *

The fan of the heater whirred softly as Keeva turned up the temperature, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand as another attempt to warm herself up. Taking a shower, no matter how scalding the water was, always chilled her on mornings the city felt like it was below freezing and this morning, despite the extra body heat added to her shower, was no different. 

With a slow twirl across the living area, Keeva smiled and sank lightly into the couch, the cushions swallowing her and she thought of the things she and Don could do with his day off. Another shower would've been ideal, and she giggled to herself as Don appeared from the bedroom, his face still pink from the hot water and hair deliciously tousled, but he was otherwise oblivious to her, seeming in a hurry.

"Don't tell me," she pouted, getting up and following him to the bar counter where his things lay scattered. "You have to go in today, after all?"

She ran a hand under his unbuttoned shirt, her fingers almost immediately bumping in to the fresh bandage he had taped over his bite and a pang of guilt twisted her stomach. If only she had just waited a little longer to visit the apartment. They probably wouldn't have even found the stupid picture and Don wouldn't be taking an antibiotic.

Don leaned in to her touch slightly, wishing he could tell her no and instead stay inside with her all day, making up for the doubt he'd held over some stupid evidence. Reluctantly he nodded, clipping his badge to his belt and holstering his gun before taking both of her hands in his own. "But to make it up to you, Lindsay pulled some strings with a guy she knows to get tickets to a show this weekend."

_He remembered from dinner... _"The Phantom?" she asked hopefully but Don just smiled, planting a kiss lightly on her lips and hurrying for the door.

"I'll call you."

And then he was gone, just like her dream it seemed, and Keeva cast a glance at the photograph on the end table by her couch. Quickly, she stalked over to it, snatched it up, and shoved it beneath the couch out of sight, no longer wanting the reminder of both the photo and the biting she'd done to keep it concealed. With a deep breath to calm down, she divested herself of her robe and climbed back in to bed, savoring what warmth was left from the night.


	10. Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

A/N: Hey guys! So I didn't blow away with the hurricane, hooray! But school this week has been so crazy I've only managed a short chapter for today, but I promise I'll add another chapter tomorrow night. I hope you enjoy :-)

Later that evening...

The bite on Don's neck ached with the memory of her teeth and he absently reached up to put his hand over the bandage as he stopped inches away from her apartment door. Inside he would probably find her sitting on the couch either biting her lip or pacing her floor worried that he'd decided to do something stupid in his initial anger, and it made him feel guilty. Of the two, Keeva had been the only grown-up and told him the truth, sitting him down carefully and choosing her words while he let himself get hung up on the thought that she lied by omission, not once seeing her side of the situation.

With a deep breath, he closed his fingers around the doorknob and turned it, stepping quietly inside so as not to disturb her if she by chance had fallen asleep. Smiling a little, Don saw her lying on the couch with the phone clutched in her hand, her small mouth hanging slightly ajar and eyes fluttering with dreams she wouldn't remember in the morning. Don reached out a hand, letting it lightly fall over her face to feel her smooth complexion and the warm breath fogging against his skin, and he let his eyes trace her beneath the soft glow of the table-side lamp.

Could she really be the sister of one of the most dangerous men in New York? The case file Angie promised had finally made it to Flack's desk earlier that day revealing Jimmy McGraw to be none other than Nathan Bozeman, a wanted man in five states for cold, calculated murders that the brass was too afraid to call "hits" by a well-trained hitman. Not a few hours later did he try to confront Keeva with the connection to the last name when she suddenly came out with it, just confessed in a sobbing sprocket of tears and apologies.

_Leave it to the ol' stubborn mule to leave her crying and think about how the whole thing effects you_, Don thought to himself, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face and tucking it neatly behind her ear. Keeva stirred and without opening her eyes reached up to place her palm over his hand.

"I didn't think you'd come back," she said, still mostly asleep so her words were slightly slurred and lazy, and Don finally allowed himself a full smile.

"What you told me took guts," Don whispered close to her ear and he smelled the wonderful coconut scent of her shampoo, it reminding him of the night before. "I was just being selfish... forgive me?"

Pulling his hand to her bosom and clutching it tightly, she nodded and resettled against her pillow in order to fall back to sleep, and as Don climbed on to the couch behind her she leaned her head back against him. "Thank you...for not leaving me. My whole life...people never gave me a chance."

She yawned and grew limp in his arms, letting him know she had slipped back to sleep so Don adjusted the pillow beneath her head before settling in himself, praying for a little sleep to save his sanity.


	11. One Step Closer

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters, except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** The promised next chapter, although it's kind of just some case filler until the next chapter I'm already putting together that I hope will be awesome as it seems right now. Thanks for the faithful review, as always, and please enjoy :-)

Lindsay's head shot up from the microscope in front of her, hearing the familiar squeak of running sneakers out in the hall and through the glass walls of the lab she spotted Danny dodging various people in order to get to Mac's office. The expression on his face was sheer satisfaction, and Lindsay grinned, knowing tonight he was going to be in a good mood, and he most certainly would be. In his hot little hand was the biggest break they'd had in the case yet and since he'd just gotten off the phone with Flack, it was Mac's turn to hear the good news.

"Just so you know," he heaved out, pointing the piece of paper in his hands at a startled Mac. He was standing in front of the TV watching the verdict of a case he had testified in hours earlier. "I am looking for a pay raise here because I think I just broke the case, Mac."

Raising an eyebrow, Mac stretched out a hand to take the paper and looked over the results of Danny's test, not exactly following the importance. Make-up, embalming fluid, formaldehyde, traces of wool and hair. "Danny, what...?"

After swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, Messer continued, jabbing a finger into the paper. "That's what we found on the bed sheets at Jimmy's apartment. It proves he had a dead body in his possession and on top of that..." -he paused to hand Mac another sheet of paper with writing scrawled in the middle. "We lifted impressions from a notepad with an address for the cemetery and also a number for some guy named Rob Miller."

With a nod, Mac handed the evidence back to him and patted him on the arm. "Nice work. Make sure you have Flack meet you there and -"

"Already done," Danny called, halfway out the door and hurrying to leave. This was what he lived for, why he kept getting up every morning to analyze evidence because there was always that one bed sheet, that one fingernail or blood drop that told the whole story and put the bad guy away.

Breezing by Lindsay, he waved quickly, thinking the same thing she had thought only moments before. Tonight was going to be a very good night.

* * *

It wasn't quite fifteen minutes after Danny's phone call when Don showed up at the precinct wearing the same suit as the day before, the material wrinkled from having laid on the floor in a heap all night and Danny suppressed a grin as he stepped through the interrogation room door. A faint, red mark was just beneath his jaw, apparently gone unnoticed and Danny made a mental note to rib him about it later.

"Okay, Mr. Miller, now that the bad cop's here we can get started," he said, glancing at Don and the latter assumed the role, resting his back against the wall and tucking his hands in his pockets. Miller looked nervously from one to the other, unsure of what exactly he was going to say and already looking like he wanted to ask for a lawyer. "What can you tell me about a Jimmy McGraw?"

"Jimmy? Oh right, right, Jimmy, yeah. He uh...he called me a few weeks ago and wanted to know where he could get a hold of a few fake I.D.'s for himself and a buddy of his."

"You know what for?" Danny asked, scribbling on his notepad as Don casually began to pace back and forth behind the perp. Miller glanced over his shoulder at him, his cheek muscle twitching slightly with the unease Flack was giving him and he looked back at Danny, leaning forward on the table.

"Does he not say anything?" he asked in a feigned hushed voice but Messer didn't acknowledge the inquiry, instead demanding he answer the question that had been asked of him. "No, of course not, man. Jimmy's a weird dude, always calling at all hours wanting something or other for himself or a friend. Usually I go get it for him if the price is right, which it usually is. Listen, guys, I never got the I.D.'s so technically I've done nothing illegal here."

Finally stopping his constant pace, Don leaned his weight on the table and stuck his face close to Miller's, the bad cop demeanor written all over his chiseled features and making the guy nervous. "How bout the sister? Is she involved?"

With almost bated breath, both Danny and Flack waited for the guy to answer, watching him as a smile formed across his chapped lips. "Oh you mean Leslie? Nah. I saw her once maybe four or five months ago when she had her huge blowup with her boyfriend but she's harmless otherwise."

He laughed to himself as Don stood back up, the stale breath in his lungs finally being exhaled and he was about to resume his previous pacing when Mr. Miller made one of many fatal mistakes of the day.

"I sure would've liked to tap that ass, though. That girl had curves that wouldn't quit."

The thought registered in Messer's mind that he should probably bolt up from his chair and save this scum bag from almost certain death but even if he had wanted to Flack had already slammed Miller's back against the wall and was digging the dull curve of his elbow into the guy's chest.

"You wanna try that again, Casanova?" he demanded, digging in harder and harder until Miller finally cried uncle, two words that were a cop's nightmare: "Police brutality! Can't you arrest him or something?"

Plenty of times Flack had let Danny's temper flare within reason, shrugging off a suspect's claim to brutality, so Danny sat this one out, merely playing along with the good cop routine and asking nicely where they could find Jimmy.

"Come on man," Miller pleaded, clawing at Flack's coat lapels but the detective wasn't going to let such a comment go so easily. "Call off your pit bull."

Flack jerked him forward then back against the wall again, jarring him enough to make his teeth click together and Danny asked the question again, attempting to distract from the comment made and for the most part it worked. Otherwise Miller probably would've been sailing through the two-way mirror nearby.

"He's got an apartment he keeps in the Village where I meet him," Miller choked out, Don's arm having shifted to push uncomfortably on his neck.

"And the dead body?" Messer prodded, seeing the flash of nervous knowledge in the guy's eyes and the best feeling of satisfaction flooded over him. This guy was going to sing like a little canary. "Come on, Casanova, you know what dead body I'm talking about or I'll let Detective Flack take you right outside."

When Miller didn't answer, Don tightened his grip and moved to slam him against the wall again when he screamed bloody murder and flapped his arms in resignation. "Okay! Okay I'll tell you. Jimmy claimed he goofed on a contract and his boss decided to eliminate him, so he wanted me to help him steal a dead body in order to fake his death. I swear that's all I know."

"See?" Don asked politely, putting Miller back on his feet and stepping away, a smirk playing over his lips. "When you cooperate and don't make jackass comments then things go so much smoother."

"Unfortunately for you," Danny finished for him. "That didn't exactly help your cause."

Miller let heave a frustrated sigh as Flack cuffed him and led him upstairs to a holding cell, where he shoved Miller inside hard enough that he stumbled and hit the wall in the back.

"Hey," he called after Don had locked the cell and turned to leave, and he almost didn't stop to hear what Miller had to say but something made him pause. "You know Leslie, don't you?"

"What business is it of yours?" Flack asked sharply, throwing a perturbed glance in his direction.

"She's a sweet gal...I'm sorry. It was an asshole thing to say."

With a huff, Don left, not wanting to bother with him whether he was just being sarcastic or being sincere. He had a long overdue visit with Jimmy McGraw in the Village.


	12. Out of Order

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Welcome back to yet another addition :-) I would like to give a shout out to those who've given me awesome reviews just because I think they deserve it: fatkat who gave me some great ideas (thanks!), brainDamage089 (I love your reviews!), and StokesSandersSpeedle who just has an awesome pen name and left an encouraging review (Greg's my favorite!). Please, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter; it started out a little rough around the edges but I think it turned out very well.

Things hadn't exactly been different lately. Sarcasm still rolled off Don's tongue at the best moments, often emphasizing the oddity of New York and why he did his job everyday. Only Danny had seemed to notice a subtle shift in him with this latest upset in the case and knowing it wasn't just the stress. There was an extra twinge of anger that seemed to ignite quickly at an inconvenience but fizzle as though nothing had happened, behavior that wasn't Flack at all, and Danny had begun to worry.

With his key that Don had given him a number of months ago, Messer opened the apartment door, not surprised to find it completely dark even at the early hour of the evening. They had already left for the show ten minutes before, which was where Danny was supposed to be meeting them, but he'd discovered late in the day that he'd left his wallet on the end table, and told Don he'd swing by and get it.

It was then he decided to snoop, although Danny would never use the word to describe it, and after picking up his wallet he made his way in to the kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled somewhat neatly in the sink, a half-empty glass of coke sweating on the small alcove by the faucet where Don put drinks he intended to finish later or cups he didn't want washed yet. Danny wondered absently if Keeva knew these little quirks about his best friend already and surprised to find himself somewhat jealous. It had been awhile since someone else was close to him, and Danny had grown accustomed to the familiarity that was Don Flack, single and not really looking.

Following the cold lip of the sink with his fingers, Danny tapped on the stainless steel until he reached the dull Formica of the counter and stopped, finding exactly what he was hoping not to find. Sitting next to the canister Don kept his sugar in was a bottle of pills, or rather three pills, and after inspecting the label Danny felt himself sigh. What Don had left did not synch up with the fill date.

_What are you gonna say to him, Messer? "Yo Donnie. We need to discuss your drug habit, man."_

_Oh get real_, he argued with himself, turning to leave. _As if you know what kind of pain he's in. Didn't he tell you his chest still bothered him? It's none of your business, anyway._

_It's been over six months, Messer. Don't jerk yourself around._

Shaking his head, Danny dismissed what he'd been thinking, not wanting to put the pieces together and as he stood silently in the kitchen, he tapped nervously at the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. In the dictionary next to the word voyeur he was sure he'd find a darn good representation of himself, and even thinking it made him laugh.

"True to form," he said aloud, almost expecting his voice to echo back a retort that would shame him for even thinking it, much less snooping around the apartment. Quickly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a single cigarette, sticking it between his dry lips before going for his lighter. First, the smoke. Always the smoke. Then he would worry about the problem later. Much, much later.

* * *

The crowd had begun to thin out of the bathroom the longer Keeva stood at the counter, the water running the remaining soapy bubbles down the drain while she ignored the cursory glances from the women trying to wash their hands and fix their make-up. The mirror in front of her was awash with the harsh light of the row of bulbs overhead and making Keeva's skin look tight and bleached, and she could see old scars through the thick make-up she had applied. Each one she studied caused a flash of memory and she flinched at the phantom pain, remembering the metal baseball bat that had caused to thick line on her forehead leading in to her hairline, the class ring that had only recently split her lip. 

_That chapter of my life ended a long time ago_, she told herself, leaning forward as the last woman left the restroom, throwing a glance at Keeva as she did so, but the latter chose not to notice. She was too preoccupied with what she had seen, or thought she had seen, shortly before her sudden trip to the second floor facilities. In the lobby below, ordering a drink in a wrinkled generic suit, was Justin.

Breathing deep, Keeva stood back up and grabbed a tissue to dab at her eyes where tears had begun to form just as the light's dimmed once. She looked up as they dimmed again and the door creaked open as the lights dimmed for the final time.

"I know, I know," she said, thinking it was Lindsay and wadding the tissue up to throw away. "I was just -"

"What? Crying?"

Keeva froze.

"How many times have I bitched about you cryin', huh?"

The lock clicked and Keeva looked in time to watch Justin's hand fall away from the small lever to his pocket, and he leaned casually against one of the closed stalls that read "Out of Order." Keeva backed further away from him despite there being no other exit, and she now knew how she was going to die: a bloody pulp dripping from her ex-boyfriend's fists.

"Justin, geezes, what are you doing here? I thought you left town days ago," she stammered and hating herself for leaving her purse with Don, the small pocket knife inside it useless now. Justin nodded, grinning as he looked at her from beneath his eyebrows.

"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye, doll." -his smile fell abruptly and Keeva's eyes darted to his pants pocket where his hand twitched restlessly, the change inside jingling with the movement. "What have you told him?"

"Nothing, Justin," she swore, wringing her hands together nervously. "Nothing, honest. Remember what I told you? I told you I'd keep my mouth shut because I know what happens when I talk too much."

He took a step forward and withdrew his hand from his pocket, the hand Keeva feared more than the other because of the knuckle buster he wore on his ring finger. It glistened under the bleached light of the bathroom, it's mere presence saying more than Justin ever could.

"What did you tell him about Nathan?" he asked again, his eyes watching the ring as he slowly pushed it around his finger and Keeva drew in a sharp breath just knowing what was going to come next. "You and I both know you're not leaving until I get my answer, my _right _answer. I really don't want to ruin that pretty face again."

Now Keeva was panicking, her fevered mind trying desperately to create some excuse to get her out of another beating but he'd surprised her this time. The bastard was supposed to have been gone, fled to Canada before hopping a flight to the Caribbean. She had done what she was supposed to, said only what she was supposed to say. Why was he here? Now? Demanding to know information she didn't have? It wasn't as though he could've known she blabbed about being his sister. Don hadn't even told Mac yet.

"Justin," she began slowly as she felt her back press against the wall, Justin standing inches away from her. "I have never lied to you before. Why would I now?"

The back of his hand collided sharply with her cheek, opening a deep gash across the bone and tears sprang to her eyes, as they always did, which always earned her another smack.

"Are you crying again?" he demanded, sticking his face in her's. He smacked her again, sending her to her knees and he stooped over her. The anger in his eyes flared and he cried out as he brought his foot down on Keeva's shin. "Tell me what Flack knows!"

"I don't know!" Keeva screamed, the searing pain exploding through her leg as it snapped easily like a twig. He then hauled her to her feet, jerking her against the wall. "I haven't told him anything! Please, Justin, don't hit me any -"

"Not until you tell me the truth," he said, not phased by her pleas and he gripped her by the hair. With a strength Keeva knew all too well, he rammed her into the mirror, the wall-length glass shattering once her head met the fragile material. She cried out as shards of the mirror embedded into her palms and arms, her flesh screaming with fiery pain.

Angling his head to the side, Justin watched her writhe over the broken glass trying to get up and once she made it to her knees he planted a foot into her stomach sending her against the wall. She coughed and spluttered, the wind having rushed out of her lungs, and she gasped over an excruciatingly long minute to regain it.

"No more," she croaked desperately, grabbing at the loose fabric of his slacks. Tears stained her face with two tendrils of mascara snaking down her cheeks. "I'll tell you anything just please...no more..."

Looming over her, Justin pushed his ring around his finger again. "Then tell me. What were those two homos doing snooping around Nathan's place?"

So he had been watching, protecting his ass but not doing a very good job, and if Keeva hadn't broken away from him when she did, she would be taking the fall for whatever Justin had gotten himself in to with Nathan.

"I identified the body like you told me to," she answered quickly, stifling the urge to sniff, and then she remembered what had innocently slipped from her mouth during the walk in Central Park. Horror-struck, she gaped at him and prayed that admitting her slip-up would save her from the rest of his abuse. "I-I told him Nathan didn't work construction, told him he worked as a park ranger like he used to for that job we did last year. I am so sorry, I was drunk and I forgot... please understand I didn't mean to. B-besides, I overheard another detective saying something about Robbie. Maybe he told them something"

Chewing her words thoughtfully he nodded, turning his back on her and taking a few steps away as Keeva attempted to shrink inside her now torn shawl, sobs quivering in her throat. The pain was growing, traveling quickly from her hands to her arms and from her leg to her pelvis as she waited for Justin's next move. It was likely he'd take one more swing at her, but Donnie...Don would come looking for her before that happened. _Oh please, let him get worried early enough..._

"I never did trust you," he muttered, rubbing his hands together slowly just as there was a banging at the door.

"Justin! Justin, come on man! We gotta meet Fratelli in thirty minutes!"

"So..." he drawled, turning to face her again and sneering at what damage he'd done. "I leave you with one simple warning."

Grabbing her once more by the hair, he dragged her to her feet and looked her straight in the eyes, a morbid kind of mirth dancing behind his own. Rearing back, he tossed Keeva through the closed stall door like she was a forgotten ragdoll and her head met the porcelain of the toilet with a dull thunk. The last thing she saw was the tile floor and Justin's gold class ring lying against the wall.


	13. A Proposal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva, Justin, and Nathan. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Thanks again for the reviews guys. I'm forever grateful, as always. While there's no Justin ass-whoopin' in this chapter, I felt the need to describe where Flack was during all of this and also felt it was time to introduce the ever-elusive Nathan Bozeman, aka Jimmy McGraw. But trust me, the whoopin's a'comin' in the next chapter :-) But please enjoy!

"It's raining outside and you're out here smoking a cigarette," Don stated, glancing up at the short awning above them before looking at Danny who was propped up against the wall of the theater. A bubble of smoke bounced on the air a moment then dissipated once someone breezed by and after a cursory glance at the individual, Danny took another drag on his cigarette.

Looking at Don from behind foggy lenses, he offered a cigarette to him and the detective took it, anxious to get a nicotine fix. Keeva had asked him to cut back for the simple fact that she was allergic and he had, sneaking a couple smokes in between crime scenes and paperwork but otherwise cutting them out almost completely. It had been three days since his last real cigarette and Danny could tell.

"It starts with the habits, man," he joked, although his voice was bland, and Don looked at him curiously. "Cutting out the cigs, putting your dirty clothes in the hamper, then she gets you to wash the dishes every night."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Messer?" Don asked incredulously, the still unlit cigarette dancing between his lips as he talked. Danny shrugged and glanced away, focusing his eyes on a cab across the street that was just going off duty, the light on the hood clicking off just before the hack stepped out. "And no...she hasn't started harping on any habits. In fact, we eat out mostly just so we don't have dishes to wash."

Messer dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk, crushing it out with the tip of his boot and he stood up a little straighter to reach in to his pocket. Pulling out his lighter he sparked a flame when Don's own lighter wouldn't cooperate and he finally spoke his mind.

"I guess I'm just used to the bachelor is all," he muttered. "I mean, when you were half-baked on pain meds after the explosion you used to call me every other night and just talk. Hell, even just before you met Keeva, you and I'd close a couple bars together just because the day hurt to keep bottled up inside."

"Things haven't changed, Danny," Don defended, taking a drag and breathing deep. "It's no different than when you and Lindsay started going out." -a lingering silence, then, "Look, I didn't come out here to fight with you about Keeva or Lindsay. I needed to ask you something important."

No longer bothered by his own trivial jealousy, Danny perked up some and watched Don curiously as he dipped in to his coat pocket to pull out a small black box. Taking it carefully as though it would break, Danny then opened it and studied the diamond inside, a quiet beauty in it's simplicity. It was a small cut shaped like a teardrop and set on a petite silver band, something that was so fittingly Keeva that Danny wouldn't question Don's seriousness even if he'd wanted to.

"Gee, Flack, I dunno man. I don't think the girls would be too happy about our engagement," Messer joked, this time his voice of the usual sarcasm and it made Don laugh as he snatched the box back into his possession. "I dunno why you need my approval, though...you seem perfect enough together."

"It's not that so much...well, maybe it is I mean...I'm not exactly sure if I can do this."

Don was floundering, trying to convince himself to back out of popping the proverbial question and for a moment, Danny saw it as a chance. It was the perfect opportunity to discourage him, tell Don that he'd only known Keeva not quite two months; asking her into marriage was just plain stupid but he couldn't, not when he'd kicked around the idea of asking Lindsay for as long as he had. When the love was there, the love was there and when it exists, you know it's right. With a sigh, Danny started back in to the lobby of the theater, motioning for Don to follow and the two of them began to walk back to their seats.

"Does it make sense?" he asked, and Don nodded. "If someone told you not to, would you do it anyway?" -another nod, and Danny smiled. "Then don't chicken out."

With one more nod, Don paused at the double doors and Messer stopped with him just as Lindsay came bounding up the aisle stairs, her eyes wild with worry and Keeva's purse gripped tightly in her hands.

"You mean she's not with you?" Lindsay demanded, noticing the obvious lack of a fourth party. Someone off to the right shushed her loudly and she threw a sharp glance at them, daring them to do it again and not caring that the second half of the show had already begun. Don's brow furrowed as he looked through the blackened theater at their seats, seeing exactly what she was talking about and his fingers clenched tightly.

"Has she been gone all intermission?" he asked, whirling around to exit back out to the lobby and Lindsay followed quickly behind him, telling him she had been looking for Keeva since the curtains had drawn.

_No...no, no, no...I should've gone with her...I knew something would happen..._

Danny broke away from them and hurried down the stairs, calling her name and even volunteering the services of a few wandering ushers while Lindsay and Don stayed on the second floor, convinced she hadn't left the area. Lindsay took the bathroom, disappearing behind the small construct in the wall as Don started for the opposite side of the balcony. His mind a swirling mess of fears and morbid scenarios, he sprinted across the intricate rug with an event already mapped out. Whatever had been making her nose bleed had finally won. A battle she had fought for years had finally gained an upper hand and she was lying on the floor in an almost posed position, a tiny crimson creek drizzling from her nostril, but just as he passed the staircase, Lindsay came running out and added to his imagination.

"Donnie! Don come quick! She's hurt badly!"

_

* * *

_

A young man, about thirty, stood beneath a canvas canopy that had been constructed to keep the drizzling rain from ruining the recently dug grave. Even in the darkened evening his bright red hair was visible, its distinct curls cropped close to his scalp and framing his face in such a way that it made him look unassuming, almost pleasant natured. A wind blew, drawing up his scarf and unwinding it from around his neck but before the sensitive flesh was revealed, he quickly anchored it beneath his jacket. Looking intently at the contact he had shown up to meet, he quietly closed his cell phone and tucked it neatly in his pocket.

"You disappoint me, Mr. Miller," he said, his voice dark and monotone, zero emotion within his voice. Slowly, he rubbed his gloved hands together and began to walk around the shivering gravedigger, casting glances at him every so often. "You've always been reliable but yesterday? Tsk, tsk, tsk. One job. I ask you to do one job and you screw it up."

Not daring to follow his pace, Rob wrapped his arms tightly about himself and fixed his eyes on the tombstones that were a few yards off in the distance, the flowers that had been delicately placed around them now tattered and bald from the cold rain.

"I didn't tell 'em nothin', I swear," he defended, his teeth clicking with nervous energy and from the biting winter wind. "You pay me too well, man."

A short, amused laugh escaped the man and he clapped once, the sound muted by the leather covering his hands. Before Rob had the chance to notice, the man was already in front of him again, staring him down with his empty dark eyes and if there was question before, there wasn't now. Inside those eyes rested no soul, no desire for redemption and somewhere deep inside Miller knew he wasn't going to see the sun rise ever again.

"Mr. Taylor has just informed me a certain Detectives Messer and Flack questioned you just yesterday. Is this true?" he asked politely, reaching out and smoothing down the collar of Rob's shirt. Rob swallowed hard, watching him as he then moved to the other side of his collar, smoothing that one down as well. "I'm waiting for my answer, Mr. Miller. You know how impatient I can be."

"Listen, I-I dunno where Justin gets his information but you got it all wrong. I ain't never heard of no Messer or Flack," Miller stammered, praying someone or something would save his hide from the man standing two feet from his face. He'd heard stories, none of them pleasant, and he didn't want to be the next one lying bloated on a street corner with half of his head severed off. "You gotta believe me, man."

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, the man took one moderate step back and nodded, his tongue slowly moistening his bottom lip. He reached into his pocket and held his hand there a moment as he glanced away toward the moon in the distance, its neon light foggy and muted from the rain clouds and the moisture in the air.

"Mr. Taylor had just spoken to my sister," he stated carefully, still staring at the moon. "I'm sure you remember Keeva?"

Rob nodded without thinking and the man looked back at him, his eyes empty and haunting. Without warning, he removed his hand from his pocket and with skilled ease, he closed the two-foot distance between them and sunk a dagger deep into Rob's bowels.

"Shhh...sh, sh," the man hushed as Rob opened his mouth to cry out. He then removed the blade and stood silently, watching as his contact bled through his fingers and on to the grass, watching as the life slowly emptied from his body. "I don't appreciate it when people call my baby sister a liar, especially when they continue to lie to my face."

He knelt down in the wet grass just as Rob fell to his knees, and he carefully coached him to lie down on the grass, making sure his bloodied hands never left the wound. Once he was sure Miller had nothing left to give, he removed six black feathers from his coat pocket and kissed each one individually. One by one, he placed them inside Rob's mouth in a delicate pattern before placing two large coins over his closed eyelids.

"She will come for you soon," he said, standing back to his feet and crossing himself as he shut his eyes. "Our lady of death will give you what you deserve."

Nathan Bozeman then took a step over Rob's lifeless body and spit on his chest before leaving the corpse behind, a renewed sense of accomplishment welling inside of him. Perhaps it was a good thing they knew he was still alive after all and that his name was no longer Jimmy McGraw.


	14. Payback's a Bitch

**Diclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva and Justin and the little snitch Frog. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Thanks for the review! And as promised, a very pissed off Don Flack and a very beat up Justin. Sorry this chapter took me a little while to spit out but I was having trouble getting the fight scene right; I've never written one before and I wanted it to be...well...I'll let you guys read it. Please enjoy!

As many years as Justin prided himself upon being acquaintances with Nathan, he never once learned the secret to the man's success of never getting caught. While Justin had once argued with him over the bank heist fiasco, Nathan had won the spat with a characteristically minimal amount of words and a quiet sip of flat soda.

"Everything I do, I do for a reason," he'd said stoically as the two dined at a run-down pizza parlor near the courthouse. "The quicker you learn that for yourself, the better off you'll be."

But, as always, Justin hadn't bothered to listen or care, instead finding a knack for roping Keeva into taking the blame for him. It had been his survival from the big house despite Nathan's constant warnings and often abandonment from Justin's company, and with his recent assault on Keeva buzzing all through the grapevine, he was alone. No one wanted the battery of a cop's girlfriend on their hands, especially a cop with as many collars as Flack, yet Justin was just stupid enough to flaunt it.

That was exactly how Don managed to find him. Through a few networked calls and discreet meetings with the neighborhood vermin, he finally got through to the right one and this little piggy was eager to squeal for him. Justin was a creature of habit, he said, and it was likely that the moron was back at the apartment in Greenwich Village.

"You mean Nathan Bozeman's place?" Don asked of the rat that narcotics usually contacted for mediocre drug busts, a sniveling little weasel they often referred to as Frog. The story was back when he'd first started dealing he'd come up a little short for some cocaine and got his throat slashed. One damaged larynx and vocal chord later, he ended up sounding like an irritating bullfrog, and the boys in narcotics made it a point to mock him at least once every time he was brought in.

Frog scratched at his left arm, then his right, then assaulted his crusted nose with a flurry of itchy fingernails. "Naw, detective. Ain't never heard o' no Nathan." -he sniffed, glanced around nervously. "But Justin...yeah. He mainly stays around the Village but word is he's plannin' on skippin' town tomorrow."

"Not if I can help it," Don muttered, pushing off of the chainlink fence he'd been leaning on. It groaned and clinked with the relief of his weight, the sound grating in his ears and making him wish he hadn't promised Danny the immediate disposal of all his Vicodin. Every noise he'd heard during the day had given him a whopper of a headache and after tonight it was likely he'd be going home with a searing migraine.

As Don began to walk away, Frog stopped him with one simple question.

"Whaddya gonna do? Somebody told me he messed up your girl bad."

Drawing in a deep breath and unsure of what he should tell him, Don just shrugged and started to walk again. "Just a little chat is all. The two of us have a lot to talk about."

And while that may have been true enough for Don the detective, it was a complete lie for Don the boyfriend. He had no intentions of "chatting" or anything remotely akin to friendly banter about an assaulted woman in a theater bathroom. In fact, on his right ring finger rested a large gold ring, the knucklebuster that was still sprinkled with Keeva's blood because both Danny and Lindsay didn't know he had it, didn't even know it existed yet.

Working with them long enough had made him numbly aware of fingerprints and epithelials and Heaven knows what else that would be remotely incriminating, but right now he didn't care. Right now all he wanted was revenge, a hate fueled monster that later he would realize brought him no satisfaction at all but rather something hollow and unwanted.

"Ain't very smart are ya?"

Somewhere in between the blackened alleyway and the apartment complex in the Village, Don had managed to intercept Justin just as he was bounding from the front doors, the sudden slam jerking Don from his dark reverie. He paused, sized Don up then quickly dismissed him and his baggy Levi's and cracked leather jacket as a non-threat, not even worth fitting in to his schedule for the evening.

"Sorry String Bean but I got a train to catch," he scoffed at him, slinging a duffle bag over his shoulder and continuing down the steps but Don quickly reached out and snatched the bag, almost causing Justin to topple over backwards. As Don had expected, Justin exploded with anger and lunged for him but he simply sidestepped him and watched as he collided with the concrete banister of the stairs.

"String Bean?" Don echoed, stepping back with a mocking smile. "Jocks used to call me that in high school, Mr. Originality. If you're trying to insult me then you'd better try a little harder. I've pretty much heard them all."

Bending over to be eye level with him, Don then grabbed a chunk of Justin's hair and jerked him to his feet, the latter wincing at the pain but otherwise refusing to give Don the satisfaction of a loud cry.

"Is this how it happened?" Don demanded angrily, backhanding him and opening an identical gash to Keeva's across his face. "Is this how you made her feel small? Is this how you made her feel like she was nothing more than a punching bag?"

With his right hand, Don reared back and planted the bulge of the ring directly against the crook of Justin's nose and sending him over the concrete banister backwards where he fell to the ground with a loud smack. At this point, Don was sure Justin would falter, sure that all this prick was, was a bully with too big a mouth and that he'd scurry off like a little cockroach beneath a light. Only he was horribly mistaken, Justin rising to his feet and the full hulk of his frame was outlined by the dull glow of a street lamp a yard or so away.

Now, when Don was still in the academy, he remembered facing a guy that could've rivaled the Incredible Hulk while holding a standard issue night stick in his left hand and gripping it so tightly his knuckles bleached with the pressure. The point of the exercise had been to teach the boys on patrol how to handle themselves against someone three times their size and Don had pretty much held his own, but now? Justin was at least the same size as the Hulk, if not bigger and probably used steroids for the extra bulk, and Don had no night stick, didn't even bother to bring his gun, his mind too consumed with getting back at Keeva's demon that wouldn't leave her alone.

_You gone and done it now boy_, his father's voice spat at him in his head. _Never did know what it takes to be a good cop, a good husband and father. You got where you are because of _my_ name, because of _my_ collars. Did you really think you could bring this mother in by yourself? Take him down like the little piss-ants you chase through Times Square and down alleyways until _they're_ the ones that make the mistake and get themselves caught? You can't even keep your own girl safe, the one girl you knew your mother would love, the one girl you saw yourself with twenty years down the road still putting up with your shit._

"I'm gonna teach you the meanin' of pain, detective," Justin growled right before slamming his arms around Don's torso and lifting him up into a crushing bear hug. Caught off guard, all he could do was stare at Justin dumbly, wondering why the world was growing hazy and his mind couldn't quite form a coherent thought.

_Where the nose goes, boy, the body goes. Always remember that._

What? What had his father even been talking about back then? He couldn't remember...couldn't think...

Finally managing to wrench an arm free, Flack allowed instinct to take over and remember for him, and he jabbed the length of his thumb straight into Justin's nose, sending him reeling backwards and his lack of balance caused him to drop Don back to his feet. Anger returning, the image of Keeva's bruised face and broken leg appearing so vividly in his mind, Don then struck Justin's throat with the broad web of his hand and with that simple move the fight was over.

"Justin Taylor," he wheezed, trying to quickly regain his breath as he watched Justin fall to all fours and begin to spit up what he'd had for dinner in a lovely array of green and cream-colored vomit. "You're under arrest for the assault and battery of Keeva Bozeman as well as assaulting a police officer."

Kneeling down, Flack plucked the knucklebuster from his right hand and wiped it down briefly with his handkerchief to smear any fingerprints before he slipped it on to Justin's finger. As Don read him his rights, he quickly cuffed him and dragged him off toward his cruiser, surprisingly more satisfied that he could arrest him rather than winning the scuffle. Somewhere deep inside he knew he had his father to thank for that.


	15. Crimson and Gold

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva. Please don't sue me. You won't get much...

**A/N:** Hello everyone :-) Thanks for the reviews, guys, and I'm glad the beating was as satisfying to read as it was to write, hee hee. As always, please enjoy the latest addition and let me know what you think :-)

With the turn of the new month came colder weather and what seemed to be a new start, an obvious lack of worry in Keeva's demeanor, and as the days progressed into a couple of weeks, Don had started to feel like he was ready, like they were both ready, to move on from what had happened. The bruises had begun to heal, the cuts had begun to diminish, and Justin was just finishing his first month of a fifteen year sentence. December had definitely been a good month.

So, as Christmas neared and the close group of friends managed a weekend off together, they all gathered together at a crowded Rockefeller Center in order to grab some lunch and to do a little ice skating where most of them embarrassed themselves while Keeva and Don watched from the railing. The doctor hadn't quite okayed her doing anything on her still-healing leg despite her insistence that she was perfectly capable, and Don wasn't about to let her get on the ice. She'd batted her eyes, caressed his cheek, sucked his bottom lip, but he wouldn't budge and she had to pretend to be content watching Mac and Peyton, and Danny and Lindsay skate so close together it could be considered criminal.

"Seriously? Marching band?" Don asked incredulously, almost surprised that he didn't know more about Keeva than he thought he did. Aside from that, she just didn't strike him as an instrument-toting band geek that emptied her spit valve on the fortieth yard line every time they took a break.

"I'll have you know that marching band is, in fact, considered an athletic activity and I was good at what I did," she defended with a grin and jabbing him playfully in the side. "Besides, I didn't play an instrument. I was color guard, and before you say 'oh…', the guard made the rest of the band aesthetically pleasing."

"I agree. I remember all the hot girls were in guard," Don laughed but not without another jab from Keeva, and they both fell against each other, relishing in the freedom that finally existed in their relationship, and the casualness of the truth they were quickly becoming accustomed to.

Drawing in a deep breath, Keeva chewed on her bottom lip as she looked up at him and admired the view. The chilly wind had brought a shy rosy color to his cheeks and reddened his lips making them look oh-so-kissable, and she wondered how their relationship had evolved from a spat with a cab driver to a cozy stroll around an ice rink. A funny thing, fate, and the longer Keeva was with him, the more she believed in it.

With a little prompting from Don, the two of them began to walk again around the edge of the rink, Keeva's arm wrapped snugly around Don's waist as they leisurely made their way toward the enormous Christmas tree. They talked casually about where they might eat dinner and how excited Keeva was that she and Lindsay had a girl's day on Saturday, and Don smiled as he listened to her, enjoying the mirth in her voice. The girls at the lab had become the world to her, especially during their visits to her in the hospital.

"They're all so great," she gushed as the two of them stopped walking not far from the tree. It was alight with amazing oranges and reds that blinked here and there, the vivid colors reflecting off of the glass ornaments and making the tree look like a beautiful sunset rather than its natural pine green. There were the usual people milling around, the tourists snapping photos of the massive decoration while others were just snuggled together on a bench, giggling and enjoying the occasional snow flurry.

Turning to face him with her weight leaned on the one crutch she had brought along, Keeva reached out with her free hand and pressed it gently against his chest. "You know I have you to thank for that, big shot detective."

"Oh? Then I suppose you owe me then," he grinned with a wink just before he pointed toward a cluster of ornaments on the tree. He helped her hobble the few feet to the tree where she leaned in close to study the area he wanted her to, but not quite seeing what he was seeing. "Just…keep lookin'. You'll find it."

Batting at a few flurries that had begun to fall, Keeva tried again, refocusing her eyes and that's when she saw the small cluster of glass diamonds that were a deep crimson color, the lettering on them a crisp gold. She noticed five of them, neatly arranged and suddenly blaringly obvious.

"Caoimhe."

"Will."

"You."

"Marry."

"Me?"

Keeva blinked once, then again before straightening and looking to her side but instead of seeing Don standing next to her, he was kneeling and dozens of onlookers were watching behind him with bated breath. In the midst of them all was Stella and Danny and Lindsay, and a few feet away was Mac and Peyton holding on to each other, everyone's faces expectant and harboring a knowledge they hid from her so well for over a month.

"I want to wake up every morning and thank God that we're together. I want to feel your skin every single day and watch your eyes sparkle as you talk about the things that interest you. I want to spend the next fifty years getting to know you, waiting on you at the dressing room, holding your hand while we stand in line at the movies. Keeva…will you marry me?"

Carefully, Keeva removed the ring from the small box he was holding up to her, tears already streaking her face and once he stood back up to his feet she fell against him.

"Yes," she answered against the chilled wool of his jacket before turning her face skyward and feeling the snow pat lightly against her flushed cheeks. "Yes! Yes I'll marry you!"

The aluminum crutch clanged loudly to the concrete as Don picked her up and twirled her around, the two of them laughing as the gathered crowd cheered and the group of friends that had come with them quickly circled around. With an order of drinks all around, Mac let them know he was treating the special occasion and they all made their way toward the nearest eatery with hugs and laughter shared the whole way.


	16. A Bad Case of Heartburn

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these wonderful characters except for Keeva and Nathan. Please don't sue me, you won't get much...

**A/N:** Wow, sorry guys it took me so long to update this final chapter. I can't stand dealing with my ISP so finally traded in for another one...anyway, thanks for the review as always :-) And alas, this is the final installment of my story, but if I get enough feedback from this, I'll probably write a sequel (who'm I kidding? I'll probably write a sequel anyway, haha.) Anyway, hope everyone enjoys!

Even in the black of the evening the wrapping paper on the floor could be seen, it's bright reds and flashy silver reflecting the milky moonlight falling delicately through the windows. Wine glasses littered the coffee table, most of them still half full from the frequent refills throughout the course of the party, and various plates had been left around with drying dips and sauces, the chips and crackers having been ravished hours ago. Everything had been left for the morning clean-up, no one wanting to ruin the festivities with the finality of the action, and as Don stepped in and out of torn paper he decided that his insomnia was no excuse to change the state of his apartment. Grab a little more wine, some of that habanero sauce that Stella made, and he'd probably collapse on the couch in the midst of all the trash while watching some infomercial for _Kaboom! _before falling asleep again.

Kicking a few things aside, he then wrenched the mistletoe from the kitchen doorway that Hawkes had jokingly brought early in the evening, and while most of them groaned, it made for an interesting night as more alcohol had been consumed. Don laughed to himself as he dropped the holiday staple on the counter and raided his fridge in search of the habanero sauce. It had already given him heartburn once and was probably the reason he was up now at two in the morning but that stuff was just so good…

Don stood abruptly at the sound of rustling paper, the blood surging through his veins at the sudden disruption and he immediately threw a glance over his shoulder and past the kitchen counter to examine the state of the living room. It looked empty, black as it should be, but so many years on the force gave him a learned instinct, and it was telling him the paper wasn't just resettling after its recent run-in with Don's careless feet.

Closing the door to the fridge, he made his own rustling sounds with a few scattered napkins over the counter before quietly opening a drawer and reaching in for his personal handgun, but it wasn't there.

_Deep breath, Donnie boy. Deep breath. What do you do now? Think…think, think…_

"If I wanted to hurt you, Detective, I would've done it already."

He paused at the doorway, holding his weight against the wall at the realization that he knew the voice. It was the same guy that had called in a dead body over a month ago. On a normal day Don would've immediately dismissed the voice, not recognizing it after a week's lapse but this one had been different with a kind of eerie self confidence that was rare. While he'd known the man had committed the murder, the call wasn't traceable and Don had been hung out to dry beneath the eye of a very scrutinizing chief of detectives. If the perp had called him, told him where to find the body, then he sure as hell could figure out who the perp was and why the hell he stuffed a man's mouth full of feathers.

"Am I supposed to know you?" Don demanded, finally leaving the kitchen and walking in to the living area where he bumped a few hard surfaces before finally making out the outline of the man sitting leisurely in Don's comfy chair, a fluted glass of what was likely champagne in one hand while the other rested comfortably on his thigh.

"Not exactly," the man said, and as Don's eyes adjusted to the night he could see that he took a long sip of his beverage, seemingly unbothered by the fact he was lounging in a cop's apartment. "But I would be offended if you didn't invite me to the wedding. Really, the proposal was quite lovely."

"Nathan…"

"Ah," he said quickly, sitting up and putting the glass aside before folding his fingers together. "So our fine detective has been paying attention. You know, it's been quite some time since someone has given me a run for my money and I must say I've been most intrigued by you and your scientist friend, Detective Messer. The two of you make quite the crime drama pair."

Livid this man was being so calm, so collected in such a situation as this, Don leaned forward and put his hands on either arm rest, sticking his face in Nathan's. The latter's breath smelled yeasty from the champagne but there was something mixed in, almost a musky scent but not quite men's cologne. "Then tell me, smart guy. Why send some goon to do your dirty work instead of talk to Keeva yourself? Geezes man, she's your sister."

Nathan stared him down without faltering even once, even putting his own hands over Don's and pressing them into the cushy fabric of the chair. "First of all, I send no one to do my 'dirty work' and secondly, Mr. Taylor is a pathetic excuse for a human being. If not for your lovely bride-to-be, that little peon would've been dead long ago." –he cleared his throat and recollected himself. "Which brings us to the reason for my visit."

He stood, his touch almost gentle as he pushed Don aside and he walked to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area. The lights may not have been on but Don could still see which ornaments Nathan had decided to pick at, the five small diamonds that were his proposal.

"As you may or may not be aware, the Bozeman name has been connected with Scottish ale for quite some time, and our family is a very successful one. My father, as misguided as he usually is, made the decision some years ago to entrust the company to Keeva. While that may sound like a good idea, it is in poor taste, especially when dear old Dad wishes for her to marry your friend and mine, Justin Taylor."

Don sat, or rather simply deflated, onto the couch and pulled a pillow against him to hug it tightly. No way was this happening. Not now, not when things finally seemed to be looking up for both of them, and he suddenly wished that Nathan was just a dream. After all, he'd never met the guy, wouldn't know him from Adam in a line-up, so why was it so easy to trust that it was him?

_Because if you pinch yourself, Donnie, you won't wake up_, his father's voice griped in his head. _In fact, if you pinch hard enough you might just cry out and realize that maybe you made a mistake. That's been your whole life, Donnie boy. __One giant mistake._

"But she broke up with Justin months ago," he said quietly, looking at Nathan's back. "Are you telling me this is my fault?"

"On the contrary," Nathan reassured him, finally turning back around to face him and clasping his hands together behind his back. "All you did was come along exactly when she needed you. As much as I do love my sister, she's not capable of managing such a large responsibility and aside from that…"

This time Nathan did falter, and Don knew exactly why. Keeva just had that kind of effect on people whether she knew it or not.

_"Nathan was born without a conscience. I really believe that…but the two of us? We have a kind of bond that no one else would understand. He'd take a bullet for me then shoot the bastard right back."_

Don hadn't understood what she meant when she'd shared all those things about her brother just days ago, but now as he watched Nathan search for the right words to say, witnessing this extremely self-confident man fumble for a few words about his sister, he figured it out.

"So is this why you came by? Just to tell me your father wants her to take over the business? If so then just tell him no…I have the feeling Keeva doesn't want much to do with that part of her life anymore."

Reaching up to his head, Nathan adjusted the beanie he wore then the thin glasses before moving to stand directly in front of a reclined Don, the detective no longer threatened by Nathan's presence because he knew that he'd been right. If the guy had really wanted to hurt him, he certainly would've done it by now. This wasn't Pulp Fiction. He wasn't going to recite any Bible passages or mess with his head before popping a few bullets in his skull _("Do they speak English in What?")._ He was a hitman, a damn good one, and not even Mac or Danny or anyone else at the lab would be able to figure out who capped Flack in the middle of the night while his fiancée slept peacefully in a bed nearby.

"I came to warn you on behalf of Keeva since my father has placed a contract upon your head and my services were requested. In his anger of Keeva's sudden departure from the Family, he wishes you gone." –he breathed in, glanced at the bedroom. "However, I am yet again trapped by a promise and a rare stroke of respect. Break that respect and I shall be forced to break a promise."

"Woah woah, wait a minute," Don said, clamoring up from the couch as Nathan began to walk toward the door, and the latter paused without turning or offering any acknowledgement. "You mean that there's a bounty out on me?"

"Don't misunderstand. Father doesn't want you alive or dead in order to question or to otherwise do what he wishes with you. He just wants you dead, and there are plenty of others, messier than myself, who will gladly collect you in a garbage bag."

Nathan straightened his jacket, and with that single action, ended the conversation. Don watched him leave, still unsure of whether or not he was dreaming until Keeva appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Her mouth hung open wide with a heavy yawn as she stretched her arms above her head, the shirt lifting just high enough for her naval to play a little peekaboo and briefly taking Don's mind away from the last ten minutes.

"Donnie? What're you doing awake?" –she grinned and began to walk to the kitchen for the same thing Don had gone to the fridge for. "That sauce is good isn't it? You better not have eaten it all."

"No," he murmured, glancing at the champagne glass on the coffee table. "I've suddenly got a bad case of heartburn…"


End file.
